


five days at the bottom of the ocean (indefinitely discontinued)

by dogparty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Bonding, Broken Bones, Bullying, Coming Out, Conversations, Crushes, Hospitals, Jealousy, Kissing, M/M, Major Illness, Masturbation, Medication, Mental Health Issues, Pining, Sick Stiles, Sickfic, Slow Build, Talk of Suicide, Therapy, Violence, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-01-20 14:02:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 42,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1513166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogparty/pseuds/dogparty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott chuckled a little and settled more comfortably into the chair, “so are you a patient here?” He queried.</p><p>The teen stretched his arms upward and groaned at the popping sounds his vertebrae made. “No. Well, yes. Not on this floor though, I mean.” He lowered his arms and observed Scott with whiskey colored eyes. “M’name’s Stiles by the way.”</p><p> “Stiles?”</p><p>“It’s just a nickname. You’d probably get a headache if you tried pronouncing my real name.”</p><p>Scott nodded, the corners of his mouth quirking. “I’m Scott. Also I’m not crazy.” Stiles raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. “Clearly.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i think i'm dyin' here

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: It's been three years since I last updated this fic and honestly, despite not really caring about Teen Wolf anymore, I still want to finish writing this. I'm just not sure if I'll be able to do it, due to lack of interest, however I don't want to abandon this story completely. If I can somehow muster up the motivation, I will do my best to continue writing this in the in the near future.

_Behavioral issues._ That’s what Scott’s mother had told him while squeezing his shoulder with a gentle hand, _that’s all it is_. Behavioral issues being the reason that he’d practically beat some smug faced douchebag named Jackson into a coma for making a snide remark about his parents’ divorce, the reason that he was now being forced stay in the psychiatric wing of a hospital for an entire week. A fucking psychiatric wing. As if he was a psychopath or something.

His mother told him that you didn’t have to be entirely crazy to get admitted into a ward. Not that it mattered, or that it was going to make Scott feel any better about staying there. He could practically feel the impending social stigma settle over him like a physical weight.

Everything had been explained to him in a fairly simple manner. The Whittemore’s couldn’t press charges under the grounds of Scott being too ’mentally unstable’ to control his actions. This wasn’t a far cry from the truth, though the way the smarmy lawyer his mom had hired described his case to the judge made it seem like he was freaking Charles Manson.

Junior year was off to a rollicking great start.

Scott ignored the probing looks sent in his direction as he was lead through the bleak hallways of the wing. He’d already been introduced to the various nurses and orderlies who worked on this floor, was shown the small rec room where the committed patients idled about, and was now being lead to his own room.

The nurse guiding him, a dark skinned woman wearing mint green scrubs and a plastic name tag that read ‘Marin Morrell’ stopped in front of a closed door near an emergency exit. She smiled before unlocking the door with experienced finesse, “here’s your room. There aren’t many patients with us at the moment so you won’t be sharing it with anyone.”

 _Good_ , Scott thought. He didn’t want to share a room with any of the other people here. He’d only seen a couple of his peer patients, but one had been furiously talking to himself and the other had been constantly twitching and staring blankly at an empty wall. They didn’t exactly seem like ideal roommates.

Slipping passed the nurse; Scott scrutinized his temporary new home. It was a modest, square space with a large window and two neatly made beds. The walls were blank, sans a couple of tacky looking paintings, and the only other furniture was an empty desk sitting under the window and a miniature dresser placed between the beds with an old lamp on it. Overall the room felt barren, but not wholly unwelcoming. It would work. At least until the week was over and done with.

He turned back to Nurse Morrell, “am I allowed to like, leave the floor or anything?”

“Not without supervision.” She replied concisely.

Scott sat down on the edge of the closest bed and ran his fingertips over the scratchy blanket. “You know that I’m not crazy, right? That I’m not gonna start attacking the chairs or try to eat someone’s face off?” He spoke without looking at her, only watching the lazy patterns his fingers drew on the bedspread.

The nurse sighed and leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m aware of your situation Scott, but that doesn’t mean you’ll be treated any differently here. The fact that you’ve critically injured someone because of a simple comment they made is more than enough reason to keep you here under observation until we can work through these issues of yours.”

The teen snorted and shot her a hostile look. “That bastard shouldn’t have said anything to begin with.” He spat, “and stop saying that I have issues. Getting angry at some idiot for running their fucking mouth doesn’t have anything to do with mental problems.”

Nurse Morrell arched a neatly curved eyebrow at him. “You’re not exactly helping your case, and you got a little more than just ‘angry’ at him. Regardless of whether you think he deserved it or not, attacking him was not the correct action to take.” She pushed off from the door frame and glided out of the room, her shiny hair sweeping over her shoulders like a swaying curtain. “Visiting hours start soon. I’d be expecting your mother to show up if I were you.” She shut the door as she left; the click of the latch closing into place seemed incredibly loud within the quiet of the room.

Scott sighed and flopped backwards onto the bed, cringing as ancient springs shrieked noisily under the pressure of his body. This week was going to be utter hell.

Each day would begin with an hour of therapy, followed by two and half hours of free time in the rec room, an hour and a half of anger management class, three more hours of free time, visiting hours; which would vary in length, and then another therapy session. At least his schedule seemed to be filled, though the prospect of an early bedtime as well as an early wake up time didn’t sound very promising.

Rolling off the bed in a sluggish fashion, Scott decided that he’d kill some time by exploring the floor. He may as well become familiar with it if he’s going to be living here.

As he moseyed out through the hallway and into the rec room, Scott noticed that there was another person there now in addition to the two others he’d seen previously. It was a boy who looked about his age; all pale skin and dark hair. He sat slouched in a chair at the arts and crafts table, occasionally rubbing at his eyes as if tired. The boy also wasn’t wearing any of the gray and white clothing donned by the other patients. So he probably wasn’t committed. Maybe he was there to visit someone.

Scott edged over to the table and took a seat across from the boy, who didn’t seem to notice him at first. When he did though, he jerked back in his seat and gave a spastic flail. “Oh my god!” He yelped, “Dude, you can’t just sneak up on someone like that.”

“Eh, sorry.” Scott countered, “But if you’d been paying attention you would have seen me coming.”

The boy narrowed his eyes at Scott for a moment before relenting. “Fair enough.”

Scott chuckled a little and settled more comfortably into the chair, “so are you a patient here?” He queried.

The teen stretched his arms upward and groaned at the popping sounds his vertebrae made. “No. Well, yes. Not on this floor though, I mean.” He lowered his arms and observed Scott with whiskey colored eyes. “M’name’s Stiles by the way.”

 “Stiles?”

“It’s just a nickname. You’d probably get a headache if you tried pronouncing my real name.”

Scott nodded, the corners of his mouth quirking. “I’m Scott. Also I’m not crazy.” Stiles raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. “Clearly.”

Reaching across the table, Scott pulled a piece of paper and a couple of crayons over to himself and started scribbling. “So, why are you here if you aren’t a patient on this floor?” He asked, indolently swiping a red crayon across the white sheet.

Stiles didn’t answer at first; he chewed the inside of his cheek and seemed to be contemplating. “I’m waiting for my dad to pick me up. He won’t be here for another hour or so, figured I’d do a little sightseeing around the hospital ‘til then.”

“You consider sitting around in the psych ward sightseeing?”

“No,” Stiles snipped, “I’m resting; my legs just got a little tired is all.”

Scott tilted his head. “Well, what exactly are you in the hospital for?”

The boy shrugged, shoulders jumping weakly. “Nothing good.” He answered in a soft voice.

The conversation seemed to peter out at that point. Stiles falling silent and staring at his fidgety hands that were placed on the table. Leaving Scott to feel graceless and invasive. He peered down at what he’d drawn; a half-assed looking wolf, before sliding the paper over to the other teen and pushing a blue crayon in between his squirmy fingers. “Draw something.” Scott said, not quite ordering but not quite asking either.

Stiles gave him a puzzled look before he started to draw wordlessly in neat, fine lines that put Scott’s sloppy ones to shame. It was sort of engrossing; watching how Stiles’ sylphlike fingers delicately sketched smooth shapes onto the paper. It was a little hard for Scott to tear his focus away.

“I’m sorry.” He blurted out suddenly, “if I made you uncomfortable. I can be a little awkward sometimes.”

Stiles gave him a brief glance before returning to his drawing. “It’s okay. It’s just…the thing that’s going on with me sucks. Like, a lot.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask, but Scott guessed that if Stiles wanted to tell him then he would have done so already.

“I have a condition.” Stiles supplied, as if he could see Scott’s desire to know. He lifted his free hand and tapped at his temple, “with my head.” After dropping his hand back onto the table, Stiles slid the drawing back over to Scott and stood up abruptly. “I’m gonna look for something to eat. I could probably eat like, five hamburgers right now if I tried.” He declared before sauntering out toward the hallway. “See ya around, Scottie.”

Scott watched as Stiles strolled away with a somewhat clumsy gait; his legs uncooperatively floppy as if they were asleep. Once he had turned around a corner and vanished from sight, Scott gazed down at the piece of paper.

Stiles had drawn slender looking fox that seemed to be playfully prancing around Scott’s wolf. He folded up the scrap of paper and slipped it into his pocket.

\----

Instead of investigating the floor, Scott had decided to crash on one of the couches and flip through some of the books provided to the patients.

After about a half-hour and several pages into _Cloud Atlas_ later, his mother showed up. She was a nurse on the first floor of the hospital and judging by her rather frazzled appearance Scott could tell that she was physically and emotionally drained. Smiling wearily, she took a seat next to Scott on the couch.

Scott returned the smile, though his had a little more vigor to it. “Hey, Mom.” He greeted cheerfully, as if they weren’t on controlled time in a psychiatric ward.

“Hi, Scott.” She responded, placing a hand across his shoulders and giving him a few absent minded rubs. ‘How’re you holding up?”

The teen shrugged. “I don’t know if I can take this much longer, I’m starting to forget what life on the outside is like.” He jibed with a grin.

His mother rolled her eyes and gently smacked his shoulder. “I don’t remember raising you to be such a drama queen, Scott McCall.”

“Life in captivity has changed me.”

She smiled, sharing in his jest, though Scott could see the stress and fatigue etched into her face. Evident by the purple-gray smudges under eyes and small knit between her brows. He suddenly felt guilty, considering it was mostly his fault that she was having such a tough time in the first place. Part of him wished that she’d forgone visiting him and utilized her break time to take a nap.

“How are _you_ holding up?” Scott found himself inquiring, ducking his head slightly to meet his mother’s eyes.

Sighing, she rubbed a hand over her forehead and through her curly dark hair. “Is it that obvious?” She asked, though the question was rhetorical.

“ _Mom._ ”

“Scott, I’m fine. I just haven’t been able to get that much sleep with trying to get your case closed up and with working and trying catch up on the bills….” She trailed off. The sentence didn’t really need finishing.

The teen grabbed the hand that had been resting on his shoulder and squeezed. “Mom, I want you to take it easy. Please. I won’t be able to deal with being stuck here when you’re working yourself into an early grave.”

His mother smiled sadly. “There’s the son that I love so much.” She spoke in a somewhat reminiscent voice. The unsaid words _where did that kid go_ hung in the air. It made Scott feel shitty. A swell of anger bubbled in his chest. Anger at himself for being so unstable, anger because that unstable part of him was credited to his dad. Anger because of the memories he knew were being stirred up in his mom’s mind. He thought of his father and what he would think of all this.

Scott opened his mouth to say something but stopped when a familiar shape came ambling around the corner.

It was Stiles, and his arms were curled around several bags of chips and various other vending machine snacks. He let out a muffled curse when a Twinkie slipped out of his grasp and onto the floor.

His mother glanced over and leaned in a bit, like she was trying to get a better look at the other teen. “Do you need help, Stiles?”

 _Huh_.

So they were obviously already acquainted with each other.

Stiles whirled around at the mention of his name, his look of surprise softening when he seemed to recognize who had addressed him.

“Uh no thanks, Nurse McCall. I’ve got it.” He replied as he dropped down in an attempt to pick the Twinkie up but only succeeding in spilling more foodstuff onto the linoleum. “Dammit.”

Scott felt his mother’s hand push at his back; a silent command. He stood up and walked over to where Stiles was crouched; pathetically trying to pick up his snacks while more of them plunged to the floor. Kneeling down, Scott scooped up numerous food items and placed them on a nearby table.  “You sure you’ve got enough to eat here?”

Stiles looked up and locked eyes with Scott. “Dude, I told you that I was hungry.” He responded, words coming out a little garbled due to the small bags of sun chips hanging from his teeth.

After the rest of the snacks were piled up onto the table, Scott’s mother had moved from her seat to examine Stiles’ haul. “Stiles,” she said with a sigh, “please don’t tell me that you plan on eating all this garbage.”

“I fully intend to.” Stiles answered before unwrapping a Twinkie and shoving the entire spongy cake into his mouth. Cream and yellow crumbs squished out around his lips. It was gross, but Scott couldn’t hide his grin.

His mother simply sighed and pulled out a bag of chips and two granola bars from the pile, she held them out to Stiles. “This is all you get, okay? Your diet needs to keep regulated.” Stiles bellyached in protest but conceded, wiping remnants of the Twinkie from his face and plucking the snacks from her hands.

Scott watched the exchange with curiosity, though he kept his mouth shut. Stiles gave Scott an unreadable look before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. “My dad’s here.” He announced, giving Scott’s mother a smile then one to Scott himself. “Gotta go.”

His mother smiled back, “have a nice day, Stiles.”

“You too.” Stiles replied, glancing at Scott briefly before turning and heading away toward the elevator. Scott waited until the doors had closed and Stiles was gone to ask, “Is he one of your patients?”

“Sometimes. Seems like you knew each other already?”

“Yeah we met a little earlier, “Scott said in a somewhat hasty voice. “Anyway, what’s he here for?”

His mother gave him a vexed look. “It’s not my business to tell you that, Scott. If you want to know, you’ll have to get him to tell you.”

Scott almost protested. Almost; though he simply gave a tight nod. It really wasn’t his business, but something about Stiles peaked his curiosity. Maybe it was his odd, deer-in-the-headlights behavior, or because of how comfortable he seemed to be when chatting up people he barely knew. Some part of Scott wanted to cozy up to him.

The visit lasted for another fifteen minutes before Scott’s mother declared her break over and made to leave, but not before giving him a long hug and promising that she’d come by as often as she could.

After visiting hours had officially ended, a male nurse Scott hadn’t met yet marched into the rec room to round him up and escort him to his first therapy session, which was actually a couple floors above the psych ward.

The nurse was a tall, well-built man with strong eyebrows and rough looking stubble. He remained quiet and disinterested, scarcely looking at Scott has they prowled down the hallway.

Eventually, they entered an area of the hospital that appeared well… less like a hospital and more like the inside of a stereotypical office building. The floors were carpeted and the scent of disinfectant was practically nonexistent. The nurse, identified as Derek, led Scott through a waiting room and into another hallway where he _finally_ stopped in front of a door. “Here.” He said with a vague gesture, and then walked off without saying anything more or waiting for Scott to respond.

 _Rude,_ Scott thought as he reached out and knocked on the thick wooden door. Not a moment later the door was opened and by an attractive woman with dark hair that settled over her shoulders in loose whirls. “Are you Scott?” She asked, giving him a brilliant smile.

Scott nodded. “Yeah, I’m here for my appointment?”

“You’re in the right place.” She piped, reaching out and offering him her hand, “I’m Jennifer. Though you can call me Ms. Blake if you’d like. I’m going to be your therapist during your stay here.” Scott gripped her hand loosely and shook it.

Ms. Blake stepped back to let Scott into the room. It was a quaint little area with a desk tucked into a corner and two soft looking chairs sitting across from one another. There were a couple of shelves lined with books and board games, and there were even motivational posters on the walls.

Scott stepped in nervously and sat down in one the chairs. He’d never endured any type of therapy before, so he had no idea what to expect. A vague image of a person laying on a chaise lounge pouring their heart out to a bespectacled man who’s only words were ‘ _and how does that make you feel_ ’’ was conjured up in his mind.

Ms. Blake closed the door and strode over to the desk, plucking up a clipboard and a thin trapper keeper. She then settled into the chair opposite to Scott’s, placing the items in her lap and folding her hands over them.

“So, let’s begin.”

\----

Therapy had been unreservedly grueling. Ms. Blake had started out by asking Scott simple questions about his life, how he’d been feeling prior to his incident and having him fill out rather personal questionnaires. _We need to determine what exactly your issues are and where they lie before we can begin the therapy process,_ she had said.

It made him kind of angry, the way she had treated him. Like he was just some kid; or a lunatic. _Well, you do happen to be staying a psych ward. So she isn’t exactly in the wrong,_ a little annoying voice quipped at him from the back of his mind.

Scott grumbled into his pillow and turned over. Lights out had been over an hour ago and yet Scott was still awake, unable to sleep. He longed to be back home and to curl up in his own comfortable bed. The bed he was currently occupying had a cloying, musty scent and felt like lumpy cardboard with a sheet over it.

The quiet, emptiness of the room was also a problem. Scott was used to the occasional cracks of the house settling or the sound of water gurgling through the pipes behind the walls. Even the slightly annoying resonance of tree branches scratching the exterior of the house was comforting; the only noise in this room was the unsettling fuzz of white noise.

In that moment, he was overwhelmed by a strong wave of emotion that he couldn’t identify. He just felt… fucking terrible. Like he was in pain, like he wanted to cry, like he wanted to punch something until his knuckles were bloody and bruised. Part of him wanted to scream until his vocal cords were raw.

It was long time before Scott managed to fall into a fitful sleep.

The next day, Scott followed his schedule with quiet compliance. He kept an eye out for Stiles, but the fair-skinned boy never showed. His disappointment was palpable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to add more tags/character tags as the story progresses so if it seems a little empty right now don't worry.
> 
> [i have a tumblr](http://kakashipng.tumblr.com)  
> 


	2. i'll draw three figures on your heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally planned on posting this a few days ago, but I ended up being really unhappy with it so I took an extra day to edit and clean it up as best as I could.

The next time Scott encountered Stiles was rather unanticipated.

He’d been spending free time in his room, sprawled across his bed and dozing, when someone knocked loudly on the door. Scott sat up slowly and shuffled out of the bed, he figured it was one of the nurses. He had barely turned the handle when the door was forced open by someone and Scott was shoved back with a surprised grunt.

A slew of insults bubbled up but died in his throat when he saw that the culprit was none other than Stiles, who had a backpack slung over his shoulder and was grinning stupidly. “Hi!” He chirruped in a gleeful voice.

“How did you-“

“Derek told me which room was yours.” Stiles interrupted, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind him.

Scott stared at him for a moment before nodding, a little astounded that Stiles had somehow managed to get the stone faced nurse to speak. “Okay uh…why are you here?” He certainly was curious as to why the other boy had barged into his room so enthusiastically, not that he really minded Stiles being there though.

Stiles shucked the backpack off from his shoulders, throwing it onto the bed and giving Scott an impish look. “I’m sneaking you out.”

“Um. I don’t think that you’re allowed to do that.” Scott advised, quirking an eyebrow. Stiles shrugged indifferently, “it’ll be fine. I’ll get into more trouble than you will if we get caught anyway.” He unzipped the backpack to yank out a large gray hoodie and toss it to Scott or, rather at Scott’s face. “Put this on.”

Scott sputtered and pulled the garment from over his head, eyeing the indigo letters _B.H.P.D._ imprinted on the front. “Know someone on the force?” He asked, running his fingers over the embroidered characters.

The other boy nodded and pulled out a pair of ridiculous looking sunglasses from the backpack as well. “My dad’s the sheriff.” He replied in a dismissive tone, tossing the sunglasses over to Scott who fumbled to catch them. “Put those on too.”

Sighing, Scott filed that information away for later and pulled the soft hoodie over his head but glowered at the sunglasses. “You realize this isn’t exactly discreet, right?”

Stiles zipped up the backpack and flung it back over his shoulders. “No one’s gonna notice. Now hurry up, man.” He groused, pulling the door open and stepping out into the hallway. Scott grumbled despairingly and pushed the sunglasses over his eyes then treaded out the meet Stiles, who was leaning against the wall wearing an expectant expression. “You look great!” He exclaimed with a leer. “Now come on.”

They managed to slip away completely unnoticed. Except for one of the patients of the psych wing, a tall guy with sandy hair named Isaac. Scott had felt somewhat unnerved as Isaac had followed them with intense eyes. Stiles had merely shrugged it off. _The dude’s crazy, and he never talks. Ever. And the only time he actually does open his mouth is to argue with himself. I think he has a split personality; the other him is called Camden I think._

Once they were outside, Scott pulled the sunglasses from his face and took a huge inhale of the crisp, cool air. It was late fall and the weather was slowly transitioning from mild to bitter. The clouds were dark and swollen, the air smelling of ozone. It was going to rain soon.

“Come on.” Stiles encouraged, tugging on the sleeve of the hoodie. They walked along a sidewalk that wound around the side of the hospital and hugged a long garden, though the only life in it was leafless maple trees that had been planted in neat rows.

After a moment of quiet Scott asked, “where are we going exactly?”

“There’s a playground outside of the pediatric facility. It’ll be empty because of the weather and I figured we could hang out there. More privacy, y’know?”

Scott almost asked why they would need privacy, but he already knew the answer. If you wanted one on one with someone it’s often better to be alone. He would admit that he preferred this to being cramped in the rec room with a couple of crazies.

The playground then came into view. It was a reasonably sized fenced in place with soft wood chips covering the ground. There were brightly colored slides, swings, sandboxes, and other play equipment in it. The fence was just a little over waist height, so it was easy for the two teens to scale. Stiles made a beeline for one of the swings, so naturally Scott followed and gingerly sat down next to him. The chains that linked the swings to the set jingled slightly, a tinkling sound that broke the haze of silence.

Scott opened his mouth to speak but was broken off when Stiles said something he didn’t quite expect to hear.

“I know why you’re admitted.”

Scott grimaced. “You do? How?”

Stiles pushed back onto his heels and then let go, swinging up by only a foot or so. “I have my ways.” He simpered, “I don’t exactly blame you for what you did though. Jackson’s a total douche.”

“Wait, how do you know who Jackson is?”

“Going to the same school helps.” Stiles answered in a voice that was chased with a slightly gurgled cough. “I only had a few classes with him, but still. He practically has a neon sign flashing above him that says ‘look at me, I’m a self-important asshole’”.

Scott felt a little confused and embarrassed that Stiles had been practically nonexistent to him despite being in the same school. The other teen didn’t seem nearly as bothered by it though. He didn’t know why, but part of him was glad that Stiles didn’t seem to know that he was in the hospital for apparently having tremendous problems with controlling and expressing his anger. And if he did somehow know, he must not have cared.

 “You probably wouldn’t have known that,” Stiles continued, clearing his throat a little and ignoring Scott’s silence.  “I’ve been in and out of school a lot since the middle of last year.” He paused, and then added, “Health related reasons.”

Scott hummed in response; mind wandering. A small but cold gust of wind whistled through the chilled air; whispering promises of snow, rattling the tree branches and stirring the grass. Scott stuffed his hands into the pockets of the hoodie and tucked his arms close at his sides. “So your dad is the sheriff?” He asked and got a nod in return, “yeah. He’s super strict though. Like he never gets out of ‘sheriff mode’ after coming home from work and that translates into his parenting a lot, it’s not fun. He’s a good guy though.”

“I wouldn’t have expected having a lawman as a parent to be glamorous anyway.” Scott teased.

Stiles chuckled at that and pumped his legs weakly, swinging again. A calm silence fell upon the playground; the only sounds were that of the trees murmuring to themselves and the hinges of the swings squeaking faintly.

Scott felt an odd wave of contentment settle over him. Truthfully he’d been dreading his stay at the hospital almost more than he’d dreaded anything else in his life, but Stiles being there if only on occasion made it exponentially more bearable. He wasn’t sure if they’d remain friends after Scott was discharged, as relationships can be tricky like that, but when a chance for company and the opportunity to talk to someone who didn’t totally grate on his nerves sits right in front of him he knows better than to purely ignore it.

He turned and looked over at Stiles, who had his eyes closed and head angled up toward the brewing sky, still swinging to and fro at a gentle pace. Scott studied him. Taking in the dark fan of eyelashes that rested against his cheeks, the delicate upward tilt of his nose, the milky color of his skin, and the constellation of moles dotting his face; three of them were very prominent and curled around the lobe of his ear.

Something hot and familiar stirred in Scott’s belly but he quashed it down. He tore his gaze from the other teen and quickly found the damp woodchips more interesting, face heating up and feeling a little gauche. He couldn’t think of a more inappropriate time or place to feel… provoked.

Scott’s moment of shame was immediately shattered when Stiles suddenly snapped his head forward and made a horrendous hacking sound, then promptly vomited in a gross sounding gush. He froze for an instant before kicking into gear, placing one hand on Stiles’ shuddering back and the other on his knee.

“Oh my God, are you okay?!” Scott burst out, surprise swiftly replaced by concern. He soothingly patted and rubbed at Stiles’ back as he continued to expel the contents of his stomach, his hands clenched around the swing chains so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Stiles’ gagging and retching eventually simmered down into dry-heaving. “Gross…” He wheezed, wiping bile and snot from his face with the back of his hand and then seemed to instantly regret that decision. “Ugh that’s even grosser! Why did I do that?!”

Scott waited for him to settle down and catch his breath, still a little stunned by the sudden puking session. He wrinkled his nose at the scent of vomit and moved his hand from Stiles’ knee to wrap around his forearm, “c’mon,” he urged and gestured toward a neighboring bench. Stiles spat out a glob of foamy bile and complied.

Once they were seated on the bench, Stiles sunk back into the pew and closed his eyes, sighing heavily. Scott eyed him, he was a little pale and his cheeks were ruddy, but he seemed okay. Or at least like he wasn’t going to throw up again.

“Are you gonna be alright?” Scott asked, scooting a little closer to the other teen.

Stiles cracked a red-rimmed eye open and looked at Scott. “Yeah, I’m not sick or anything. It just happens sometimes.” Scott dipped his head, not quite put at ease by that. It obviously had something to do with whatever Stiles’ ailment was, with the familiar way he talked about it.

Another blast of wind gusted across the playground, bringing a splatter of chilling rain with it. Scott shuddered and pulled up the hood of his jacket. Stiles yapped and curled in on himself a little.

“Well I guess that recess is over?“ Stiles snickered and tucked his hands under his armpits. Scott smirked and tracked a drop water as it slid down the bridge of Stiles’ nose. He stood up from the bench and pulled the hood tighter around his face, eager to return to the warmth of the hospital.

Stiles rose from the bench as well and stumbled a little but thankfully Scott was close enough to steady him by reaching out and gripping his shoulders. “Sorry!” Stiles sputtered, his cheeks reddening a bit, “my legs locked up a little. Must’ve been sitting for too long.”

Scott grinned and gave Stiles’ bony shoulders a squeeze. “It’s okay,” he replied, “You don’t really need to apologize.” Stiles didn’t respond vocally but returned a wide smile that made a curl of warmth settle within Scott’s chest. It was a nice feeling, knowing that he had put that smile on the other boy’s face. It kind of made him want to make Stiles smile more often.

The light sprinkling of rain then morphed into a rougher downpour, forcing the teens to quickly jog back to the hospital to avoid getting completely soaked. Laughing like idiots the entire time.

They managed to slip through the hallways without much fuss, though they did get a few strange looks from some visitors and nurses. Once they’d re-entered the psych wing, Scott accidentally made awkward eye contact with Nurse Morrell, her eyes narrowed and flickered to Stiles briefly before looking back to Scott, but she said nothing. Scott had the feeling that she was giving him a free pass this time. Though the warning behind her dark eyes was clear. _Don’t do it again._

Once the rec room came into sight, Scott made a turn to saunter in but was gently yanked away when Stiles wrapped a hand around his wrist. “What?” Scott asked, giving Stiles a confused look.

‘Your room’s better.” He responded with a flippant twitch of his shoulders.

As soon as they entered his room and the door was closed, Stiles flopped onto Scott’s bed with a sigh, wiggling his body slightly in an attempt to get comfortable.

“Dude!” Scott exclaimed as he pulled off Stiles’ hoodie, “you’re going to get my bed all wet!” He laid the hoodie out on the other bed so it could dry. Turning back to Stiles and crossing his arms, Scott sneered at him. “That’s where I sleep, you know.”

Stiles didn’t move from his lazy sprawl, he smooshed his face into Scott’s pillow and hummed. “There are two beds in this room, Scott. You don’t have much of an argument.”

Well, he did have a bit of a point. Scott came to expect this from Stiles, it made him wonder how many enemies Stiles might have made over the years. With the way that he can make practically anyone out to sound or look like a total idiot. It wasn’t exactly a useless trait to have, but nonetheless it was a trait that could earn you a rather unpleasant punch to the face.

“Still,” Scott mumbled, running a hand through his damp hair. He crawled onto the other bed and sat up against the headboard, shimmying down into the flattened pillows until he was somewhat comfortable. “Is your dad picking you up again today?” He asked, fiddling with the frayed edge of the blanket.

Stiles withdrew his face from the pillow to look at Scott. “Yeah. I don’t know when he’ll be here though. We can just chill until he gets here if you want.”

Scott _hmmed_ , unsure of what exactly to say. He wanted to ask Stiles about himself, to learn more about this spastic kid who couldn’t keep his mouth shut, but didn’t know exactly what it was that he wanted to know. That little annoying voice whispered _everything_ , but Scott ignored it. He would just start by asking some general question, or at least as general as he could make them.

“Have you ever played lacrosse?” Scott decided to ask, once again ignoring the little voice as it snorted and said _well that’s a great start._

Stiles sat up a little a rested his chin against his crossed forearms. “Actually yeah, I was on the school’s team for a little while. Though I was more of a benchwarmer than a player...” He blinked and rubbed at his nose, “do you play? I don’t remember ever seeing you at any practices or games.”

“I just joined this year,” Scott answered enthusiastically, happy to have picked an appropriate subject “it would’ve been cool to be on the same team together though. Why don’t you play anymore?”

The other boy sighed pressed his face into his arms again, “I got sick, and it just got kinda hard to keep trying after a while, y’know? Even though I was never really a factor on the team to begin with.”

Scott frowned and chewed at his lip, feeling a little shamefaced. Of _course_ he’d wander back into sensitive territory, knowing his luck. “I’m sure you were a great player,” he eased, smiling and forcing back any negative feelings, “I mean there had to be _some_ reason why coach would keep you on the team, knowing how uh, ‘touchy’ he can be.”

Stiles sniggered, the sound muffling into skin and cloth. “Or he was just desperate and needed a place to fill.” Scott gave an amused smirk and settled down further onto the bed, careful to avoid the drying sweatshirt. He stretched out his legs and laced his arms behind his head.

“Is lacrosse something that you’re building a future around?” Stiles asked.

“Not really,” Scott replied, eyes on the white ceiling. “I just wanted to get some sort of extracurricular activity done” He looked over at Stiles, “I take it that you don’t plan on being a professional lacrosse player either?”

“Fuck no,” Stiles snorted, “I haven’t really thought about what I’d do in the future. Figured I’d just see how things play out and decide when I get there.”

Scott understood. They were both at that odd transition period where parents start nudging their children toward the edge, hoping that they’ll spread their wings and fly. It’s hard to go from beloved child to independent adult. Scott really didn’t blame Stiles for the indiscretion.

Their conversation drifted here and there after that. Scott talked about his own plans for the future; _when I was little I wanted to work in the hospital like my mom, but now I’m thinking about being a vet since I’ve already got the experience_. Stiles mentioned that he used to want to take over his father’s position as sheriff, but had recently lost interest in such things.

It was curious, Scott had decided, that Stiles and himself were actually pretty similar. Aside from the shared enjoyment of lacrosse, Scott learned that neither of them had siblings and they both had single parents. They also had a similar taste in music and in media as well, except Stiles was completely appalled at the fact that Scott had yet to see any of the Star Wars movies, _dude how is that even possible?!  I’m definitely going to have to change that._

Scott had no idea how long they had just laid there and talked. They talked about simple things from what their favorite colors were and why to more complex things like whether or not _Romeo and Juliet_   was really a tragic love story or if it was just about spoiled kids that made stupid decisions. It felt good to just talk, it was relaxing.

The word _therapeutic_ flashed through his mind and in that brief moment he thought about his therapist, Ms. Blake. It hadn’t really felt like this when he’d talked to her, even though it should have. In fact, it felt like quite the opposite. His appointment with her had been more galling than anything.

Sure she was nice and well meaning, she knew how to do her job correctly and he was sure that she knew what she was doing exactly. There was a fancy little degree on the wall of her office to prove it, but the way that she talked to him had just felt… patronizing. He hadn’t felt comfortable talking to her; she looked at him with a slightly furrowed brow and spoke to him in a slow voice, as if he was an injured animal that was poised to attack. In a way, that was true. It would be easy for Scott to lash out at her and tear the woman to shreds in a metaphoric sense. The thought made him curl his fingers into his palm, his nails pricking into the soft skin.

She was a therapist, and it was her to job to make him feel safe and confident in her abilities to help with whatever it was that was going on with him. He sort of wished that she would’ve talked to him in the same way that Stiles did, like Scott was just another person going through the motions as opposed to a damaged mental patient.

He huffed suddenly and rubbed up and down the length of his arm, the familiar feeling of anger started bubbling through his veins like hot acid and making his skin itch. Maybe he would tell her that during his next appointment. That she needed to respect him and treat him like a peer before he would respect her and treat her like an actual therapist. It wasn’t exactly a one way street.

“Scott?” Stiles voice piped and pulled him from his thoughts, he looked over at Stiles who was watching him with a curious gaze, “you were kinda zoning out. You okay?”

“What? No I’m fine, I was just thinking about things. Um, were you saying something important” Scott responded, shooting Stiles a lopsided grin, forcing the ire that was stewing inside of him to die down.

Stiles blinked suspiciously and then shrugged, “whatever you say, big guy.” He shuffled up and onto his knees, the weight of his body resting against his heels “I was just telling you that I kind of need to take my medication now.”

That’s right, Stiles was sick. In the head apparently. That extinguished his anger like a lit match in a windstorm.

“Um, okay,” Scott murmured, “do you need to go to the nurses’ station or something?”

Stiles shook his head and reached for his backpack, which had been dropped on the floor next to Scott’s bed. “No, I keep ‘em with me. I’ve gotta take them every twelve hours or so, so it’s better to keep them handy if I’m out and about when those twelve hours are up.”

Scott watched as Stiles unzipped his backpack and pulled out an orange tinted bottle full of white pill tablets. He couldn’t really read what the label said, as Stiles’ hand covered most of it up, though he did see part of a word that started with ‘R’. He wouldn’t try to guess what the word could possibly be, considering it could’ve been anything.

“What exactly do the meds do?” He asked, hoping it didn’t seem like he was fishing too much.

Stiles uncapped the bottle and tipped two of the pills into his palm, he then reached back into the backpack and pulled out a half empty water bottle. “To be blunt,” he started, “they play a hand in keeping me alive.” Stiles popped the pills into his mouth and took a few gulps of the water before pulling away with a pinched expression, “gross, I accidentally tasted them.” He whined and wrinkled his nose.

Watching silently, Scott weighed Stiles’ words. Some nosey part of him wanted to try and ask again what Stiles’ condition was, but he didn’t. He couldn’t really be blamed for his curiosity though, considering Stiles had literally just told him that those pills helped keep him alive. Part of him hoped that Stiles didn’t mean that literally. Scott shifted from his half lying position, a sudden twitchy feeling overcoming him, like he just needed to move.

The other boy shoved the two bottles into his backpack with an exhale and wilted back onto the bed, twisting until he was curled up on his side, facing Scott. “These meds usually make me sleepy as hell, so don’t be surprised if I fall asleep.”

Scott turned over a little and smiled down at him, “that’s fine. Sleep all you want.”

“You sure you wouldn’t mind? I’ve been told that I can get really loud and squirmy when I sleep.”

“Totally, I’ll probably just take a nap too,” Scott countered, slipping down until he was laying flat on his back, “and besides it’s not like we’re sharing a bed or anything.” Something in Scott fidgeted a bit at that thought.

Stiles closed his eyes and snuggled into the pillow, smirking. “You’re a good person, Scott. It’s hard to believe to that you kicked Jackson’s ass and put him in the hospital.” He mumbled and pulled his arms close to his body, knees drawing up to his chest. “You kind of remind me of a puppy.”

“Puppies have teeth though.” Scott supplied, biting back a grin.

“Little teeth.” Stiles rebutted with an obnoxious yawn.

\----

After twenty minutes of lazy chatter, Stiles was dead to the world, snuffling and twitching in his slumber. Scott was still awake for the most part, slipping in and out of a light doze. He felt warm and comfortable; it probably wouldn’t be long before he fell into a deeper sleep.

 He jumped slightly when a low buzz broke the cozy hush. Stiles didn’t budge, though he licked his lips and rubbed his cheek against the pillow like an affectionate cat for a fleeting moment.

Scott sat up and stretched a little; the sound was coming from Stiles’ backpack, so it was probably his phone. Quietly sliding off the bed, he zipped open the backpack and dug around until he found the phone, which was indeed buzzing and blinking for attention. The caller ID read ‘Dad’.

He almost didn’t answer it, he wanted to huddle back into the bed and enjoy the sleepy warmth permeating the room. But he knew better than to just let a phone ring when someone was calling, even if he actually didn’t know that someone. You never really know what could be going down on the other line. He tapped the answer button and pressed the device to his hear. “Hello?” He asked, keeping his voice low.

“Who’s this?” A tinny voice barked, clearly not expecting anyone other than Stiles to be answering.

“Uh, I’m one of Stiles’ friends… sir. I’m a patient in the hospital” Scott explained softly, flinching a little.

“Why are you answering instead of him? Where is he?”

“He’s sleeping,” Scott replied, “he just took his meds like a half hour ago and sorta passed out on my bed.”

Stiles’ father sighed into the phone, sounding of relief and exasperation, “okay. Well I’m waiting outside for him, could you wake him up and let him know that I’m here to pick him up?”

Scott’s eyes darted to Stiles’ sleeping form for a moment, watching as his chest gently puffed in and out with each breath, “yes sir.”

“Good,” The Sheriff stated, he paused for a moment before saying, “I didn’t know that Stiles had any friends… what’s your name, son?”

“Scott.”

“Scott, right. Well, make sure to get Stiles up and send him down, please.” He ordered sternly before hanging up.

He pulled the phone away from his face and stared down at the now darkened screen, his reflection frowned up at him. Was he really Stiles’ only friend?

Scott placed the phone back into Stiles’ backpack and stood up, gently setting a hand on Stiles shoulder and shaking him. “Stiles,” he said in a soft voice, “Stiles wake up, your dad is here.”

Stiles moaned into the pillow and curled up into a tight little ball, “Too tired….” He slurred and weakly batted at Scott’s hand. Scott shook his head, “you gotta wake up Stiles, one way or another. I’ll drag you out of this bed and downstairs by your ankles if I have to.” Stiles opened sleep glazed eyes and squinted at him, “you’re evil, Scott McCall. Truly evil.” He muttered.

“Yeah I’m the worst, now get up. Your dad is waiting for you.”

Grumbling, Stiles forced himself up into some form of a sitting position and looked up at Scott. He slipped a hand through his sleep rumpled hair and then scrubbed at his left eye. “He is?” Stiles asked, as if Scott hadn’t told him so twice already.

Scott nodded, “yeah. Do you want me to walk down with you or…?” Stiles shook his head and yawned, “Nah I’m good.” He stood up from the bed and stretched, raising his arms high above his head and standing on his tip toes. After his joints popped satisfyingly, Stiles leaned down to pick up his backpack from the floor and swing it over his shoulders.

“Well Scott,” he warbled, still obviously under the sleepy effects of his medication “this is where we say our goodbyes. So y’know, till next time and all that jazz.”

Scott smiled, “yeah, see ya.” Stiles returned the smile and clapped Scott on the shoulder, the warmth of his hand leeched through the material of Scott’s shirt. After a moment Stiles let go and to turn and open the door, but instead of walking out he looked back at Scott and said, “I’ll be back the day after tomorrow, and then we can hang out again. That’ll be your last day won’t it?” He didn’t give Scott time to reply before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him, waving through the grated window before slipping away.

Scott remained seated on the bed for a moment before he looked over and saw that Stiles had forgotten the hoodie that he had lent to him. Scott reached over and wrapped his fingers around the sleeve, it was completely dry now. The gray material was soft and warm under his hand.

In a split second decision, Scott dragged the hoodie over to himself and pulled it on, smiling slightly at the comfortable feeling of it against his skin. He stood up and moved back over to lay down in his own bed, its sheets still warm from Stiles’ body.

Scott pressed his face into the pillow, which smelled a bit like Stiles, and pulled the blanket over himself. He fell asleep within minutes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished editing around 3:30 in the morning today I so figured I'd end the chapter on a sleep note.
> 
>  **EDIT** : It'll be a few days until I get the next chapter up, I've started it but I haven't had the time to complete it and get it posted at the date I originally planned. 
> 
> Your patience keeps me strong.


	3. broken sundown, fatherless showdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long! I am a very lazy person.

“We’ve decided to set you up with a prescription of Lithium; however we’re going to begin with a small dosage of 300mg a day and go up from there as your body becomes more tolerant to the drug.” Ms. Blake explained, her face set in that familiar expression of sympathy.

“Lithium.” Scott parroted tersely and tucked his chin in his hand, “and what is that exactly?”

“It’s a drug that is used mainly to treat bipolar disorder, “she clarified as she smoothed down the fine wrinkles of her pencil skirt. “It acts on the brain and spinal cord, strengthening cell connections within the brain to regulate one’s thinking, mood, and behavior. Unfortunately it’ll take a few weeks to start noticeably working, though your body might feel some of the adverse effects a lot sooner.”

Scott gave a sulky sigh and rubbed the wide of his palm across his forehead, keeping his eyes fixed on the dark blue carpet. “I’m pretty sure that I don’t have bipolar disorder.” He spoke tightly, not looking up to meet Ms. Blake’s dewy gaze.

“We’ve yet to determine that,” she replied matter of factly, “but many people who aren’t bipolar take Lithium anyway because of how well it works on stabilizing behavior. We wouldn’t just hand you any random drug if we didn’t think it could help you, Scott.”

“’Help me?’” Scott barked out a laugh, “isn’t being _here_ supposed to ‘help me?’ Aren’t _you_ supposed to ‘help me?’ If there _is_ something that’s really wrong with me, then becoming dependent on some drug to keep me what you’d consider normal isn’t going to change anything.”

“Scott,” Ms. Blake spoke on an exhale, “as much as I hate to say it; you can’t expect these sorts of things to be resolved on their own or pretend that they don’t exist. Yes, taking the medication will be no more than a Band-Aid but there’s a reason why you’re in therapy. Because as much as you would like to deny it, you have a lot of latent anger that could become potentially hazardous to your physical and mental health in the near future.”

“Natural ways to destroy your problems and get to a better place are ideal; I get that, that’s why you’re here. I can help you get to where you want to be. Like it or not- like _me_ or not, it’s my job to do what I can as your therapist to improve your quality of life in any aspect possible. The Lithium will aid you in feeling better until we can make some sort of breakthrough.” She paused and took a composing breath, her voice lowering. “I need you to cooperate with me, please.”

Scott felt a bubble of annoyance inflate within his chest. A small part of him wanted to firmly grasp onto what she was saying and run with it, but another part of him simply scoffed and said _you’ve already seen her twice every day nearly four days in a row. If it were possible for her to change anything you would have graduated from this crap by now._

Maybe he should just man up and accept that there’s something wrong with him. That some part of his brain just doesn’t work like everyone else’s. The idea of it makes his annoyance morph into undirected anger. Curling his hands into tightly balled fists, Scott ticked his jaw and looked up from the floor to meet Ms. Blake’s eyes. “I don’t have a say in this, do I?” He asked dolefully.

Ms. Blake frowned. “Since you are a minor, your mother has the authority to okay the prescription whether you want it or not. She knows what’s best for you.”

Scott wanted to ask about what would happen if he denied taking the pills, if the orderlies would hold him down and force them into his mouth. Maybe they’d tie him up and somehow inject the medication into him, or worse; use suppositories. Weirdly, he thought of Stiles and how the other boy would find that sort of thing funny.

“Am I gonna have to start taking them today?”

Nodding, Ms. Blake extended an arm over to her desk and pulled a small sheet of blue paper from it. “Yes. A nurse will bring your dose to you before lights out tonight.” She handed the piece of paper to Scott. “Here is a list of the side effects that you may feel after taking this medication. There is about a 75% chance that you could experience any one of these.”

Scott took the slip from her without a word and glanced down to read the listed words;

**Common Lithium (Eskalith, Lithobid) Side Effects:**

  * **Hand tremor (If tremors are particularly bothersome, an additional medication can help.)**
  * **Increased thirst**
  * **Increased urination**
  * **Diarrhea**
  * **Vomiting**
  * **Weight gain**
  * **Impaired memory**
  * **Poor concentration**
  * **Drowsiness**
  * **Muscle weakness**
  * **Hair loss**
  * **Acne**
  * **Decreased thyroid function (** **which can be treated with thyroid hormone)**



A wave of apprehension washed over him. The idea of taking the meds had sounded awful before, but now it just sounded completely unfeasible. “And I absolutely have to take them? Every day? Even after I’m discharged?” Scott found himself asking, unable to keep the discomfort out of his voice.

The therapist hummed and nodded again. “Yes, Scott. It’s important that you remain a steady intake after going home. You’ll have to visit a doctor regularly so your blood can be tested; Lithium often has negative effects on the kidneys and the operation of one’s thyroids. Now,” She flipped her dark hair over her shoulder and leaned forward in her seat slightly, the mask of faux sympathy once again overtaking her face. “How do you feel right now?”

Scott wanted to make a snide remark about her not-so-subtle segue, but held himself back. He also sort of hated that she’d always ask how was feeling almost every thirty minutes. As if his entire psyche had shifted in that short gap of time.

“I’m fine.” He replied in a slightly clipped tone, “a little frustrated now that I have to start taking a drug that can make my kidneys shut down.”

“You’re being melodramatic, Scott.” Ms. Blake sighed, “And when it comes to your feelings, you need to dig deeper than that. Your current frustration is being caused by something new that is directly affecting you; you need to think about the richer emotions lying beneath that.”

“So basically you’re telling me that every time you ask me how I’m feeling, you’re asking if I’m consciously but subconsciously feeling emotions about an event that isn’t recent but is still affecting me and how I feel about it still affecting me?” Scott asked derisively.

“Yes.” Ms. Blake replied, tapping a pen against the clipboard resting atop her thighs. Scott flinched at the irking _pap pap pap_ sound. “Many people experience traumatic events within their lifetimes, and these event can often lead to damaging repressed emotions or PTSD. Sometimes both. Neither are pleasant, to say the least.”

Scott huffed and scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to rub the weariness out. “Aren’t you the one being a little melodramatic, now?”

Ms. Blake stared at him for a few moments, seeming to weigh her words. “Tell me about your father, Scott.” She spoke; it was more of an order than a question.

“What?” He gaped, taken aback by the sudden question. “What do you mean-“

“I know that your parents are separated. I want to know how you feel about that and how you feel about your father.”

Scott crossed his arms over his chest, an array of unwanted emotions enveloping him. Something cold and serpentine slithered through his intestines, sending a stinging shiver up his spine. “I don’t care that they’re separated and my dad is a complete asshole.”

Ms. Blake tutted, she’d already shown her disdain toward Scott swearing at her during his previous sessions, scolding him like a child. However this time, she simply ignored it and moved on. “I think it’s safe to say that you obviously have feelings about them splitting. Otherwise you wouldn’t have had that knee-jerk reaction.”

“Having feelings about their divorce isn’t going to make them get back together,” Scott sniffed, “so why should I waste my time brooding about it?” He wanted to try and steer the conversation into another direction. She’d entered into delicate territory.

The therapist shook her head, a look of enervation crossing her face. “Scott, you can reject it all you want, but you’ll feel emotions about your parents’ separation regardless. You’re bitter about them splitting and you clearly hold the blame on your father. Just tell me what’s going on inside and we can put this behind us and make progress.”

A hot rush of anger overtook him, heating his face and blurring his vision for a moment. “I’m fucking furious about it, okay?! My dad is a shitty person, but that doesn’t mean I was okay with my family breaking apart! The only emotion I’ve ever felt about this whole thing is anger, there was never room for me to feel sad because I felt betrayed by my parents for doing that to me. They didn’t care how I felt about it; they just kept it from me until everything was said and fucking done.” Scott sank into the chair a little bit, squeezing the armrests tightly. “Can we please stop talking about this now?” He muttered, lip curled with contempt.

Ms. Blake blinked at him sadly before reaching out a placing her hand on Scott’s knee; it was a light touch, as if she was afraid to apply any more pressure than that. He tensed under the gentle weight.

“Scott,” she spoke softly. “I know that this is hard for you, but it’s important that we-“

“Important that we what?” Scott retorted and pulled away from her, resentment still writhing and heavy within him. “There’s nothing more to this. I’m angry about what happened and nothing is going to change that.”

Tucking her hand back against her thigh, Ms. Blake stared at him with intense regard before she closed her eyes and sighed, leaning back against her chair and placing the clipboard onto her desk.

“If you keep telling yourself that, then you’re right. Nothing will change. I can preach and moan to you all I want, but truthfully, you are the only one who can straightforwardly help yourself. You’re the one holding the gun to your head, it’s your choice to either pull the trigger, or drop the weapon.” She reopened her eyes and fixed Scott with an icy look.

“The choice is entirely yours. Now choose.”

\----

To say that Scott was a bit frustrated was far more than an understatement.

The last thing he’d wanted to do was to give into Ms. Blake’s taunts, but that snarling, howling part of him had latched on to the bait she had set and swallowed it whole. Curling his hands into limp fists and exhaling loudly, Scott glanced around the quiet rec room briefly before moving his eyes back to the linoleum floor.

The appointment had ended on a rather acidic note, leaving Scott to feel empty and worn out. All of the white hot anger he’d felt had liquefied into nothing.

His anger management class was slowly approaching, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He peered around the room again; it was completely empty, there weren’t even any nurses in sight. It wouldn't hurt to make another stupid decision, seeing as how he'd already dug himself into a neat little hole.

Chewing the inside of his cheek in a moment of hesitation, Scott pushed off from the couch and slipped in the hallway, holding his breath slightly and moving at a careful rate as not to draw any attention to himself. He walked toward the elevator in a brisk pace with his shoulders slightly hunched, eyes set firmly on his goal of freedom.

Admittedly it was a rather stupid decision to skip his class and sneak out, and he would probably get into a lot of trouble for doing so. Though he couldn’t help himself to care, there were only so many softly spoken words and condescending looks he could handle in one day. After pressing the down button on the control panel, the doors of the elevator slid open silently. Scott wasted no time jumping in and pressing the button that read P1.

The lift lurched into movement and made a barely audible purr as it slid down slowly, leaving Scott to stand awkwardly in the center and try to ignore the God awful music that tinkled out through the speakers. After it had taken him down the lowest floor of the hospital, the carport, Scott stepped out into the cold space and jammed his hands into his pockets. Moving back as the doors slid closed once more.

It had been raining since early morning. Thick heavy drops that splattered loudly onto the pavement and hissed through the nearly bare tree branches. Scott found it oddly comforting, however the biting cold that caused his breath to steam was not nearly as enjoyable. Sighing, the teen leaned back against a cold cement wall surrounding elevator; simply enjoying the solitude and sound of the rain echoing throughout the darkened space of the carport.

Taking a deep breath, Scott tried to clear his mind and imagine that he was somewhere else. It didn't really matter where he imagined himself, just as long as it was not the dank carport of a hospital. The image of a forest flashed in his mind, dark and green. The scent of spongy green moss and soft loam would be heavy in the air, and the sound of rainwater crashing against the leaves would fill the forest with the sound of drumming. There probably wouldn't be any animals to speak of, all of them would be huddled with their homes with their fur fluffed and eyes close, sleeping away the dreary weather. A lone bird would probably call out occasionally. It was a pleasant thought.

He practically jumped out of his skin when a vaguely familiar voice spoke suddenly from his left, “wouldn’t have pegged you for a rule breaker.” The voice was woven with unbridled amusement. "Judging by your appearance, you seemed like a pretty straight laced kid."

Scott whirled around to see that broody nurse, Derek, leaning against a pillar to the side of the elevator. He wore a dark colored leather jacket over his softer colored scrubs and had a dying cigarette weakly hanging from his fingers, the burning red light from it cast a small warm glow around the man's hand. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a smoker.” Scott replied in a cheeky voice, eyeing the nurse wearily.

Derek simply shrugged; a languid roll of his shoulders, before taking one last drag of the cigarette and then tossing it onto the damp ground to grind it into the conrete with his heel and kill the flame. He blew the smoke out through his nostrils before speaking, “I don’t do it that often. Only when I really need to, don't get a whole lot of opportunities to do it with this kind of job anyway.” 

Scott shuffled away from him a little, something about Derek intimidated him. Physically, he was striking. Tall and broad, easily outweighing Scott with pounds muscle. “You’re not gonna drag me back into the hospital are you?” He asked slowly, his own muscles bunching in preparation to make a break for it. As pathetic as it was.

“That depends,” Derek drawled, moving away from the pillar to stand against the wall Scott had been leaning on. He looked at Scott with lidded eyes, “do you _want_ me to drag you back into the hospital?”

Blinking, Scott forced himself to relax a little. Derek clearly didn’t give a crap about what Scott was doing. He found it kind of funny, considering that the nurse looked like the kinda of person who’d be a strict tight-ass.

Scott sighed awkwardly and paced back to his place on the wall, about a foot or so from where Derek casually leaned. “You can’t blame me for wanting to get out,” Scott informed. “Try being crammed into that stuffy place 24/7 and see how well you can stand it.”

Derek snorted quietly and looked over at Scott with a very small smirk. “I’ve been crammed into that place for almost two years now. I know what it’s like to be stuck there, believe me.”

The teen opened his mouth, but didn't quite know what to say. He instead fixed his eyes on the various cars parked within the lot, reading the license plates. Most of them were from California, though a few were from Oregon and even Washington. He wondered why people from that far north would be down here, unless all the hospitals in Washington were suddenly shut down or ran out of room. “You don’t exactly look like you would be a nurse.” Scott commented, gaze drifting back to Derek.

“Assuming that nurses have a specific look,” Derek replied in a somewhat dry voice, “funny you’d say something like that considering your mom is a nurse.”

Did everyone in this hospital know who he was by his mother?

Scott pressed his body more firmly against the wall, clenching and unclenching his fists within his pockets, not out of anger but more of habit. Derek remained completely silent, not really bothering to engage Scott in any sort of conversation but more simply taking in his presence with complacency. “How come I never see you around in the psych wing then? I mean, nurses aren’t stationed to just one floor, right? So I would have seen you around at some point.”

“I’m not a full-time nurse,” Derek answered smoothly, “I’m in hospice training. It eats up a lot of my time and doesn't leave much room for nursing.”

“What’s hospice?” Scott asked, tilting his head.

“Hospice is palliative care for terminally ill patients. Sometimes the care takes place in hospitals, other times patients prefer to spend their remaining time in their homes.”

Scott furrowed his brow a little and angled his head back against the wall. “I hear that sometimes people who are terminally ill get neglected by their nurses.” Bits of old information resurfacing in his mind as Derek's explanation sunk in.

Derek scoffed, “you seem to have a pretty nasty attitude about hospital personnel.” He gave Scott an icy look, “your therapy sessions speak for themselves.”

Face heating up, Scott rounded on the nurse, pulling his hands from his pockets. “I’m pretty sure those sessions are supposed to be confidential, why the hell would you know anything about it?” He snapped, anger that was directed entirely at Ms. Blake curdling inside of him. He wouldn’t be surprised if she took it upon herself to talk about how fucked up he was behind his back.

“It’s not exactly confidential when everyone can hear you screaming at your therapist through the walls.” Derek jibed; his face remained collected and cool, though his eyes were sparking menacingly and held a dark warning within them. Crossing his arms, Derek bore those intense eyes straight into Scott's own. “You’re young, so you think you’re above things like this. That adults are just out to get you and that everything needs to go your way.”

Derek stepped forward and put a hand on Scott’s shoulder, roughly shoving him out of the way and pressing the up button of the elevator. “Nothing is as black and white as you want to see it, so cut the bullshit and grow up.” 

Leering, he turned back to Scott as the lift hummed and the doors glided opened. “You’re going to regret wasting this all this time being angry, Scott. It’s an ugly kind of regret, and it will stick with you. Take it from me.” Derek didn't wait for Scott to respond, striding into the elevator and giving him one last look before the doors slid close with a quiet _whir_. The elevator made a grinding noise that eventually faded away as it rose upward.

Scott stared at the silver doors for a moment before letting out a cry of frustration, lurching forward and slamming a tightly curled fist into the slick metal surface. The skin over his knuckles burst with a fiery sting and the fine bones of his hand crunched, he swore he could hear the sound bouncing around with the dimly lit lot.

If there was any pain at all, he didn’t feel it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 4:33 in the morning and I'm totally beat. Hopefully it won't take as long to get the next chapter up in the future.
> 
> [shameless tumblr plug](http://kakashipng.tumblr.com)  
> 


	4. gonna get away from all those mouths and my shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I apologize for taking a thousand years to update. I've just been sort of busy with trying to get school work done before the year is out, getting horrendously sick, and searching for a job. Anyway, you're not here to read about my crummy life, are you?

Scott squirmed.

The suspicious look in his mother’s eyes was pinning him down like a cat on a mouse. “Are you going to tell me about that fancy new cast of yours?” She asked, eyes darting to the garishly bright orange cast encasing Scott’s right hand up to the middle of his forearm.

“Um,” He stammered. “The floor was wet and I fell, landed right on my hand. There wasn’t a wet floor sign anywhere so…”

His mother shook her head, effectively cutting him off. She obviously didn’t buy into Scott’s bullshit. “Scott.” She sighed, “Please don’t lie to me.”

Scott rolled his lip between his teeth and tried to look anywhere but his mother’s heavy gaze. There had been a few incidents in the past where Scott had let his emotions out in a rather… physical manner and ended up injuring himself as a result. It wasn’t really a surprise that she didn’t believe him.

“Who did it?” She spoke suddenly.

“What?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, “someone had to have said _something_ to provoke you. Am I right?”

Scott glanced down at his casted hand, recalling the events that’d led up to him stupidly smashing his fist into the steel doors of the elevator. “I was talking to a nurse,” he mumbled, feeling his cheeks heat up a little; embarrassed. “He said some things and I just sorta, lost it.”

His mother seemed to process the information briefly before crossing her arms, “who was the nurse?”

“Mom, please don’t.” Scott groaned, “he didn’t do anything wrong. He just told me that I’m acting like a little brat, and he didn’t exactly sugar coat it. I overreacted I guess.” It felt a little weird to admit it, and he internally writhed at the thought of taking Ms. Blake’s, or even Derek’s, advice on how to handle himself but really he just wanted this conversation to be over.

At 6:00 P.M. today, he was being discharged from the hospital. Albeit not entirely free of its regime with still having to visit Ms. Blake every week or so and taking his new medication every day, but he was being granted much needed freedom nonetheless.

Giving him a look that clearly voiced her wishes to probe further, Scott’s mother conceded and slumped against the back of the couch, eyes flitting across the near empty rec room. Isaac was nowhere to be seen, as he’d had some sort of episode during the night and was probably sleeping it off in a drug induced slumber. Another patient named Erica; a pale girl with tangled blonde hair, was being visited by her parents who spoke to her in slow, hushed voices. She was a paranoid schizophrenic, always mumbling and twitching. Never looking anyone in the eyes.

Scott’s stomach roiled suddenly. Ever since taking the Lithium before bed last night, his insides had been twisting and churning at a near constant rate. He’d yet to eat anything; afraid that even the smallest bite of food would just end up all over the floor in a half digested puddle.

His mother gave a loud exhale, her hand slipping over to Scott’s un-casted one and giving it a squeeze. “I worry about you, sometimes.” She said. “That you’re just gonna snap someday and seriously hurt someone, or yourself.”

Scott snorted. “It’s not like I haven’t done any of those things already.” He joked darkly, not bothering to look at the grimace that crossed over his mother’s tired face.

\----

Since it was his last day, Scott had a few more liberties than usual. _To get you back onto a more regular routine_ , Nurse Morrell had explained to him that morning before shoving some chalky pill tablets and a small Dixie cup into his face.

This mostly just meant that Scott was allowed moderately free range and that attending the last anger management class was optional. In his eyes, optional meant ‘not gonna happen.’

The anger management classes had been dull and unhelpful from the start; Scott and the other patients present had always been made to sit in a circle of chairs and talk about their experiences, feelings, and how they wanted to change themselves. It was not at all unlike his therapy sessions. The worst part was the ‘trust’ activities that Scott had to perform with the others.

Scott had no idea how falling backward into some stranger’s arms with your eyes closed was meant to help with anger. Not that he’d ever voiced his concern though.

Currently, the disgruntled teen was once again meeting with Ms. Blake. Fortunately this was different from all of his other appointments with her, this one being a simple ‘review’ of his stay in the psych ward and whether or not he felt any progress had been made.

The dark haired woman folded her hands in her lap and made a blatant attempt to not look at Scott’s cast. “So tell me,” she had begun with a small smile. “Since first being admitted to the hospital, do you feel any different?”

Scott shrugged halfheartedly. “When I first got here I felt upset because I didn’t want to stay here for an entire week. And now that I’m leaving I feel happy. Does that answer your question?” There wasn’t really any of the usual bite in his words; as there wasn’t really any point in constantly trying to shrug off Ms. Blake attempts any more.

“No, not really.” She replied with a quiet chuckle. “I know you don’t want to be stuck in here with me any longer than you have to, so if you just give me some straightforward answers I can fill out this paperwork and send you off.”

Puffing out an indignant sigh, Scott remained silent but thought about whether he _really_ felt as though the experience had changed him or not. Truthfully, he felt like the same exact person he was when he’d been committed.

Though to Ms. Blake’s credit, he did sort of feel like he maybe had a better handle on controlling his temper. But then again, learning how to inhale for 7 seconds, hold his breath for 8 seconds and then exhale for 7 seconds was probably something Scott could have just learned from the Internet. Scratching his hand over the itchy spot where the cast met his arm, Scott mumbled “I guess I feel... more in control.”

“Good,” Ms. Blake chirped and scribbled something onto her clipboard. “You know, I’m happy that you’re being more compliant with me today.” She looked up at Scott with flashing eyes.

“I can tell that you still don’t like me though.”

Scott wanted to say something in rebuttal, but he couldn’t really deny it. Her sympathy shtick and the lofty way she would talk to him was still a problem, as it probably would always be. He still wanted to push her away but every time he thought about snipping at her or shrugging her off, he remembered Derek’s harsh snarl of ‘ _grow up’_ and would suddenly feel like a five year old throwing a tantrum.

Huffing, Scott sank down into the somewhat uncomfortable chair and looked at the eggshell colored ceiling. “How much longer is this going to take?”

“Not much longer,” she’d replied promptly.

And she was right.

The session had lasted a mere fifteen minutes longer before Ms. Blake had clapped him on the back and said _see you in two weeks kid, good luck_ in a rather canned voice.

After worming his way back into the psych wing, Scott rounded the corner of the hallway that led toward his room but nearly trampled over someone else who’d also been turning the same exact corner. He yelped in shock and quickly ducked out of the way to avoid the person, looking in surprise at a familiar mole-dotted face.

“Scott!” Stiles exclaimed in a sing-song voice, “I was just at your room but you weren’t there.”

Scott blinked, a faint wave of relief, as well as happiness, washing over him. He grinned. “Yeah, I was just getting done with therapy. What’s up?”

Stiles smiled widely and opened his mouth to speak, but his expression quickly turned from joy to concern as he looked from Scott’s face to his arm, openly gawking at his cast. “What happened?!” He glanced back up and his eyebrows pinched together, “I’m gone for just one day and you’re staying in a freaking _hospital,_ how the heck did you manage to break your arm?”

“Um, it’s not my entire arm.” Scott explained, shuffling his feet guiltily. “Just a bunch of my fingers and my wrist…” He squirmed as Stiles narrowed his eyes in an overdramatic fashion, “it was just an accident. The floor was wet.”

“The floor was wet.” Stiles mimicked, deadpan.

Scott nodded, “yeah. I took one step and just fell right onto my hand. It’s busted as hell, but it should be fine in five weeks or something like that.”

The other teen looked skeptical, and seemed as though he going to say something else so Scott quickly jumped in and changed the subject. “Anyway! Why’re you here?”

Stiles gave him a pathetic look and contemplated in silence for moment before speaking. “Well, you’re being set free today for one. And two, it’s Friday. Which means that we have an entire weekend to spend more time together.” Stiles paused, his mouth held in an ‘o’ shape before he recovered and gestured his arms wildly, “I mean, only if you want to! That is… because it’s okay if you don’t want to or anything, like if you wanna see your other friends or a girlfriend or even a boyfriend, or just be by yourself or-“

“Stiles,” Scott interrupted, grasping a swinging arm by the wrist and lowering it back down to Stiles’ side, “we can totally hang out. There aren’t a whole lot of other people I’d consider my friends and I don’t have a girlfriend, or a boyfriend. Okay? So in other words yes, we can hang out.”

Stiles looked at him owlishly before smiling again. “Cool,” He stated simply, grasping at Scott’s shoulder and shoving him around in the direction he’d been coming from. Stiles swerved around to walk in front of him. “Come on, we’re going outside again.”

“What?” Scott found himself asking, even though he’d clearly heard what Stiles had just said. He stumbled a bit and regained his footing, falling into step behind Stiles as he practically skipped over to the elevator. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”

Stiles jabbed the ‘up’ button with his finger about five unnecessary times, as though that would make the elevator arrive any faster, before glancing over at Scott. “Not a single second,” he replied with a smirk.

Scott stepped closer to Stiles as the elevator rumbled, “If we’re going outside then why are we going up?”

“Because,” the other boy replied, shoving his hands into the pockets of his stripped hoodie. “We’re going up onto the roof.” Stiles looked over at Scott and gave him a sheepish look. “I probably won’t throw up this time, although I can’t make any promises.” Scott shrugged and tipped his head back, giving Stiles a slightly rapt look. “Hey, whatever man.” He replied, “as long as it’s not on me you can throw up whenever you want.”

Stiles didn’t reply, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward as he looked away from Scott and toward the silver doors of the elevator. The tilted quirk vanished as soon as his gaze was averted and his eyes took on a distant, woolly look. It was a little disquieting, but Scott shrugged it off.

The ding of the lift arriving resounded just then and ceased the almost awkward moment, Stiles jerking suddenly as if startled. He found Scott’s eyes and smiled, tugging a hand from his pocket and gesturing toward the elevator. “After you?”

Scott rolled his eyes but returned the smile; he took a wide step into the elevator with Stiles shuffling in after him. “So,” Scott drawled, “how are things with you lately?”

“Things have been… okay.” Stiles answered with a vague wave of his hand. He leaned down and scrubbed at one of his knees, “my doctor gave me braces for my legs today. I don’t have to wear them all the time though, just mostly when I’ll be walking around a lot.”

Involuntarily peaking down to Stiles’ legs, Scott could make out the swell of the braces through his pants. “Why do you have to wear them?” He asked and looked back up at Stiles’ face, though the other was looking down at the tiled floor. “My legs just get weak and tired easily, the braces will help keep them steady so I can walk easier.”

Once again, the question of _what’s wrong with Stiles_ flitted through his mind. Despite his mother being a nurse, Scott had very little knowledge of medical afflictions. Not that he didn’t know what someone looked like when they had the flu or a cold, but he just had no idea what to make of the symptoms Stiles displayed.

Stiles chuckled a little. “I guess we’re not really that different right now. Except I’m not wearing these because I ‘slipped and fell’.”

Scott smiled and playfully pushed at Stiles’ shoulder.

\----

The murky weather had finally relented; the sky was still washed with charged gloomy clouds, but they had broken open in patches to reveal soft blue skies and watery sunlight. A light, cool breeze had blown down from the mountains and coasted silently over the city.

Scott smiled at the feeling of the chill air against his skin and the sparky scent of damp; it was much more comforting than the heavy warmth of the hospital and the pungent scent of chemicals.

This particular section of roof wasn’t that large when compared to the scale of the hospital, but was adequately sized in its own right. The relatively small space felt somewhat private, even though it looked over a large portion of the hospital grounds. People could be seen milling about on the sidewalks and parking lot, occasionally a car would drive by with a whoosh of sound. Scott slid down into a crouched position with his elbows propped over his knees, watching as Stiles loped over to the roofs edge and peered down. He hummed low in his throat and glanced over toward Scott. “It’s a pretty decent drop to the ground. If you jumped, you might live. But it’s unlikely.” He mused.

“Really?” Scott commented, not bothering to ask where the subject of leaping from roofs came from. “Even if there was a pool and a mattress at the bottom, y’know like in _Burn Notice_?”

“Especially if there was a pool and a mattress at the bottom.” Stiles replied astutely, turning his back on the edge and plopping down next to Scott, exhaling loudly as he stretched his legs out. “They tested that on _Mythbusters_ , landing on a mattress actually does more damage than not landing on one. So you’d be like, super dead. Lotta broken bones and ruptured organs, the splinters from your bones would probably pierce your lungs and your heart and stuff, so add massive internal bleeding to the list.”

“Well it’s a good thing you told me that then,” Scott smirked, “now I’ll have to cancel all of my future building jumping plans.”

Stiles smiled lopsidedly and squinted up at the clouds. “It’s good to cancel plans like that before you even start them. You wouldn’t wanna try and back out after you’ve already stepped off the ledge. That’d make your last moments pretty terrifying; knowing that you tried to stop it and that your death is imminent”

The sentence came out a little hazy, which was honestly disconcerting. Scott briefly looked down at his hands; the fingers of his unbroken one were curled limply toward his palm, like the legs of a dead spider. “You sound like you’ve been there before.” The statement tumbled out before he could swallow it down. Scott internally kicked himself.

He half expected Stiles to not reply or brush the question off, or even get angry at him and leave, never speaking to Scott again. Instead though, the other boy reclined back onto the sun-warmed rooftop and rested his arms behind his head in a makeshift pillow. “I think everyone has been there at some point.” He paused and then added, “Some sooner than others.”

Well, true.

Scott leaned back to lie down as well, resting his own arms over his abdomen, the heavy cast squished into his stomach a little but he ignored it and looked upward. The sky was starting to turn into a pale mix of blue and pink behind the billows of thick dark clouds, the sun had started to sink, so it must have been around 4 o’clock. Only two more hours.

“By the way,” Stiles spoke unexpectedly; his voice was syrupy and slow, “has staying here really changed anything for you? Or are you still…? He pulled an arm up and waved it, “crazy?”

Scott snorted, “I’m pretty sure I told you that I’m not crazy.” He glanced over and met Stiles honeyed eyes, which were glinting with humor. “I feel a little more relaxed.” He shrugged, the material of his jacket scrapping against the cement underneath him, “I don’t think I’ll ever be ‘fixed’ though.”

“Tell me about it,” Stiles sighed. “Believe me, if anyone knows what that feels like to be ‘unfixable’, it’s me.” Despite the melancholy content, Scott’s chest warmed a little at that. “We’re just a couple of kindred spirits, aren’t we?” He asked, shifting so that he was lying a little more on his side and facing the other teen. Stiles lolled his head to the side and fixed Scott with a calculating look, as if he was tearing Scott apart and putting him back together. After a moment, he smiled. “Yeah.”

They fell into silence after that. Occasionally one of them would say something like _that cloud looks like a dragon_ or _this is really uncomfortable to lie on_. Though for the most part, there was nothing but quiet.

For an instant, Scott thought that Stiles had fallen asleep because of how still and soundless he’d been. But when he turned over to check, he was a little surprised to see that Stiles was still completely awake. In fact, his eyes were wide open and staring up at the sky; his face was devoid of any emotion. He could either be thinking really deeply about something, or not be thinking about anything at all.

Rolling back over with a sigh, Scott forced his limbs and muscles to lose their tension and let his mind go blank. However much he tried though, Scott couldn’t keep himself from thinking about the boy lying next to him.

Stiles was weird, admittedly so, though the word ‘strange’ seemed to fit him better. Not that he was strange in the sense that he should be ostracized or picked on, but he had a very unconventional air about him.

He didn’t seem care about, for lack of a better word, consequences. He would speak pretty much whatever words or sentences popped through his mind, not bothering to filter them and even take the time to ask himself _did I just say that_? Not to mention him dragging Scott around and shrugging off any warnings of punishment. He figured that Stiles was the kind of person who would shout ‘carpe diem’ and then make a spontaneous decision to go skydiving, even if he was deathly afraid of heights.

Scott liked that about Stiles.

There were actually a lot of things that Scott liked about Stiles, which caused an odd furl of emotion to wiggle in his stomach. It felt sort of like how he’d felt about Allison when he’d first met her; thought she’d been in and out of life in a flash of soft, dark hair and sweet smelling perfume before he could anything between them could truly progress.

Scott blinked furiously and pushed away any thoughts of Allison, the memories too fresh and tender to bring up.

The sudden realization of _oh my god am I starting to like-like Stiles_ caused heat to flood under his skin, Scott sat up and unconsciously scooted a little from the other boy's prone form. Stiles jolted at his sudden movement and made to sit up as well; he tipped his head and gave Scott a confused look.

“What?” He asked, leaning in slightly. “What’s wrong?”

Scott pinched his lips and looked away, his skin was still flushing hotly and his heart thumped erratically within his chest. He prayed to every God he could think of that it wasn’t possible for Stiles to hear his heartbeat.

“Scott?” Stiles spoke up again, his voice louder this time. He reached out and jabbed Scott in the ribs with slim fingers. “Don’t ignore me, dude.”

Forcing his gaze from the chipped concrete and up to Stiles mystified face, Scott forced the wave himself to calm down. This was far from the first time that he’d found himself crushing on someone he’d only recently met and these emotions were hardly anything new, so why did he suddenly feel so flustered? Shifting slightly, Scott exhaled loudly.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he replied simply and smiled warily at Stiles. “I just uh… remembered that I’m going to be discharged soon.”

Stiles seemed unconvinced but he didn’t say anything. He returned the smile, though with much more gusto, and stood up suddenly. “That’s right!” He exclaimed, “I completely forgot too.” He held a hand out to Scott in an attempt to help him to his feet. “We should probably go inside now though.” He hunched his shoulders close to his ears, “it’s starting to get a little cold.”

Scott took Stiles’ hand, ignoring the warmth of the other boys’ palm pressing into his, and allowed himself to be pulled up. Stiles clapped his hand against Scott’s shoulder and smirked. “C’mon, tough guy.” He jibbed before turning and retreating toward the stairwell that led down to the elevator.

It was hard not to watch Stiles as he hobbled off, his posture was stiff and clumsy but it did nothing to deter the heat that dazzled inside of Scott’s face. Inwardly, he bereted himself. Even though there was no way he could have controlled what he would feel for Stiles. It’s just that attraction certainly had been the last thing he would have expected.

Scott was royally fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually somewhat happy with the way this chapter had turned out. I originally planned on adding in a lot more but didn't have the time since I'm going on a short vacation tomorrow and I really wanted to get this up before I left.


	5. feel real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always underestimating the amount of time that it takes for me to finish a chapter.
> 
> Forgive and point out mistakes please.

Being attracted to a guy was nothing new to Scott, in actuality he’d never had _feelings_ for any specific one, but he had definitely been able to appreciate the physical qualities of the male form. Some more than others, so given that Stiles had rather appealing features, he shouldn’t have been entirely surprised by this newfound… fixation.

Except that he was.

This was different than simply admiring another pretty face, this was definitely how he’d felt when he had first met Allison. Jittery and excited, nervous energy thrumming underneath his skin and practically dictating every move he made. Of course though, just because he suddenly started having some not-quite-platonic emotions about Stiles didn’t mean that he would start tripping over himself and become an awkward mess. Although that could easily start happening, considering Scott already tended to be a little awkward and he was never the greatest at staying collected, especially when it came to his feelings.

Scott glanced timidly over at Stiles, who was staring down at his hands; lacing and unlacing his fingers keenly. Currently, the two teens were seated in the waiting room on the first floor of the hospital, anticipating for Nurse Morrell to arrive with Scott’s discharge form and send him on his way. His mother was working late tonight and would be unable to drive Scott home; when Scott told this to Stiles the other teen had practically jumped at the opportunity to offer him a ride.

When Scott had run Stiles’ offer through to his mother, she smiled and made a suggestion that he did not expect to hear.

“Why don’t you just stay at Stiles’ house tonight?”

Scott blinked in confusion, “Mom…” he started, “I’m being discharged from a _hospital_ today and you want me to stay in the house of someone I just met?”

His mother had rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, jutting out her hip slightly. “Believe it or not, I happen to bewell acquainted with Stiles and his family. You two seem to get along and you know that I don’t like you being home by yourself when I work late.” She smiled in a somewhat knowing way, “I think it would be good for the both of you.”

Scott had opened his mouth to object, but couldn’t find the necessary words. He made a mental note to ask his mom about her acquaintanceship with the Stilinski’s when the opportunity next arose. Now, after a tight hug from his mother and a quick phone call to Stiles’ father later, the teens continued their anxious wait for Scott’s discharge.

“So,” Stiles spoke up suddenly, slouching deeply into his frumpy chair, “not that I’m not pumped for our little slumber party, but does your mom always dump you on people when she works the night shift?”

“Not usually,” Scott shrugged and mimicked Stiles’ droopy posture. “It varies. I mean, I’d typically just end up staying at home, even though she’d prefer me not to.” His mother would often be a little overprotective, despite the fact that he was seventeen going on eighteen. Nearly a legal adult. Though he didn’t really blame her, him being her only child and whatnot. “There used to be someone who I would stay with…” He trailed off, instantly regretting the course he’d just directed to conversation into.

Stiles leaned into Scott’s space slightly, curious brown eyes focusing on him. “What happened with that ‘someone’?” The question was genuine and innocent, though Scott had to take a composing breath and briefly squeeze his eyes shut before answering. Either Stiles didn’t notice Scott’s reaction, or he did notice but dared not to ask.

An image of flowing dark hair, soft red lips, and deep-set dimples flashed through his mind, quick and blinding like a lightning strike. Sparking and pulsating right behind his eyes like the flaring vestiges of a powerful adrenaline rush.   _Allison_.

Allison Argent, a whirlwind of a girl with the resonating prowess of a predatory cat and the disposition of an elegant doe. Scott’s first and last girlfriend. He met her not long after sophomore year started; she’d been a transfer student. Timorous but not at all intimidated, stunningly beautiful and confident. Scott had been utterly floored at just her sight and presence alone, the fact that he managed to work up the courage to speak to her still baffles him to this day. He’d like to say that he nabbed her attention with a display of intelligence or strength, something primal and impressive, but no. He offered her a pen. She accepted it with a brilliant smile that had left Scott beaming.

Their romance was short and passionate. His mother had awed at them and the others students sneered, calling them “gross” and “nauseating”. Neither of them cared though, for reasons that were obvious. Scott would like to say that he loved her; still does, even after everything. Allison had been the first person he had ever felt such intense devotion for. He hoped that she felt the same, or at least _had_ felt the same.

Scott had been pleasantly happy. Thoughts of anger and hatred warded off by Allison’s glowing existence, like darkness swallowed by sunlight. Unfortunately, like most good things in Scott’s life, it didn’t last.

Allison and himself had been walking down the halls of the school on an early day in June, side by side and holding hands, as they usually did. The comfortable silence that had fallen over the couple was broken when Allison had asked if they could go somewhere private. Scott’s first reaction had been excitement, his hormone driven teenage brain jumping to thoughts of making out and possibly some groping, but the serious look on Allison’s face and the way she anxiously chewed her lip sobered him up pretty quickly.  He’d barely been able to respond when Allison tugged him toward a nearby door and outside, crossing the campus and to a secluded cluster of trees. She took a deep breath before speaking, her eyes hard and uncertain. It made Scott worry.

“I’m moving to France.”

And that had been that. There was nothing Scott or Allison could have done to prevent it. _My dad moves us around a lot because of his business… it was only a matter of time before we had to leave again_ Allison had said to him, clutching his hands tightly and not meeting his eyes. She would be leaving at the end of the month. Only 25 days.

They’d made the most of her remaining time in Beacon Hills. Spending as much of it together as possible, despite the looming inevitability of Allison’s departure and the stressful scrambling that came with school ending. They’d gone to the beach; even though it was hours away and the weather hadn’t exactly been fair. They drove all the way down to Disneyland; personally, Scott didn’t like it very much but Allison absolutely loved it. They went to the Redwood Forest and took plenty of pictures of the gargantuan trees. They’d had sex.

It hadn’t been anything spectacular. Scott supposed that teenaged sex was never meant to be great anyway; it had been fumbling and fast. Neither of them really knew what they were doing, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if it had been amateurish and vaguely dismal, because they were doing something very special with each other and that was what mattered, Scott still thought that it had been staggering. The act itself wasn’t what had made it special; it was the overflow of utter adoration and emotions that made it into something memorable and important. They had given something to each other that they could never get back or give to anyone else; any feelings they had been holding back were released and only added to the intensity of the moment. It was perfect, in its own right. Allison must have thought so too. Afterword, her eyes had been sated but brimming with warmth, her slender fingers drawing gentle patterns along Scott’s spine and shoulder blades.

The day that she left was not dramatic; there was no torrential downpour of rain or cries of _don’t go_. It was sunny, bright, and filled with cheerful birdsong. A complete juxtaposition to melancholy mood hanging heavily over the parties involved. No heartfelt speeches or onslaught of unstoppable tears. Just a long breathless kiss and an even longer hug. Scott had buried his face into the crook of Allison’s neck, one arm locked tightly around her waist and the other pressing over her shoulders. Allison had tucked her chin over Scott’s shoulder and wove one her hands into his hair, the other bunching the back of his shirt tightly between her fingers. The two stood like that for what felt like an eternity, until Allison’s mother spoke up and reminded her daughter that they needed to leave for the airport. Scott watched their car drive away until it had disappeared from sight.

Scott loved what they had had together, it was something he’d never experienced before and he certainly cherished it. Her departure had shattered him though, effectively destroying his visions of having something deep, meaningful and fully developed with Allison. Something more than just a teenaged, high school stint. Before she had left, they’d both come to a mutual agreement that it would be near pointless to attempt a long distance relationship.

Allison had trailed her fingers over his brow and down his cheek, cupping the curve of his jaw as she leaned in close. “I don’t want you to wait for me, I can’t ask that of you; you deserve to be happy, Scott McCall.” Her lips brushed ever so gently against his ear, causing a shiver to ripple down the length of his spine. Scott wanted to tell her that he would wait for her forever, because he loved her, but he knew better. He’d only nodded and held onto her even tighter.

He didn’t like to think about Allison. Everything with and about her had been absolutely perfect, thinking about it only caused a deep, painful ache in his chest and a dense feeling of utter grief. Scott reopened his eyes and met Stiles’ gaze, the other teen had recoiled slightly, looking like he had just kicked a small puppy.

“We went our separate ways, I guess.” Scott answered solidly, not bothering to beat around the bush. “It was my girlfriend. She moved somewhere really far away.”

Stiles didn’t reply, eyes darting anywhere but Scott’s face. “I’m sorry man,” He mumbled uncomfortably, as if he was physically searching for a way to change the subject before things got too touchy. “I sort of know what that’s like. Not the ‘girlfriend moving away’ part, but the losing someone important to you part.” Scott shifted in his seat, “who did you… lose?” He found himself asking.

The other teen hesitated briefly before answering, though his answer made Scott wish he’d never asked.

“My mom.”

“Shit.” Scott muttered, rubbing a palm over his forehead. “Sorry I didn’t mean- well, you know” Stiles simply shrugged and looked up at the ceiling, his face an emotionless mask. “It’s fine, you didn’t know. Besides, it happened a long time ago. Can’t spend all my time treating the subject like glass.” Stiles laughed and shook his head, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees. “This conversation is a little too depressing for my comfort.” He turned and pinned Scott with an enigmatic look, eyes glassy. “But I have no idea what else to say.”

Scott gave a halfhearted smile and twitched his shoulders limply. “You don’t have to say anything.”

\----

Scott felt a wave of familiarity when he stepped out through the automatic doors of the hospital, remembering first entering through those very doors no more than a week ago, disquiet hanging roughly over his shoulders. Finally leaving was a bit of a surreal experience. He startled when a hand pushed at his lower back. “So, how does it feel to be a free man?” Stiles asked, withdrawing his hand and letting it fall limply to his side.

“To be honest,” Scott said, “not a whole lot different.”

Stiles smiled and slipped around Scott, back pointed toward him and lifting his arms to motion widely at the surrounding environment. “Be a little more enthusiastic! The world is your oyster now,” he turned back to Scott, “celebrate your freedom. Buy a hooker, get drunk, gamble away your wealth, drive to Mexico. Do something spontaneous and cliché like that.” Scott rolled his eyes and walked past the other teen, heading to one of the benches lining the nearby sidewalk. He sat down on the smooth surface, dropping his small duffel bag onto the ground. “Sounds a little too spontaneous to me. I’ll settle for sleeping until noon, watching T.V., and eating some real food.”

“Lame.” Stiles tutted, settling down next to Scott on the bench. “If I knew you were gonna be such a buzzkill I wouldn’t have decided to be friends with you.”

“Right,” Scott mocked in reply, “you couldn’t have resisted me if you tried.”

Stiles huffed out a laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that Scott could only describe as cute. “True. It’s your dashing good looks. Sucks people right in; like a black hole of hotness.”

It was clearly a joke, but that didn’t stop the furl of warmth that spread through Scott’s chest and the flush that heated his cheeks and neck. “So um,” he stammered, trying to find the right thing to say. “When will your dad be here?” He settled for a subject change, before he ended up saying something stupid and regrettable. “Let’s see…” Stiles spoke, fishing out his phone and presumably checking the time. “He should have been here like, ten minutes ago actually.” He looked at Scott and shrugged. “Probably got a little tied up at the office. It’s nothing out of the ordinary.” 

Scott nodded and looked toward the sky; dark purple with a sparse littering of stars, washed with pink and orange on the horizon. That unmistakable chill of night air had started to descend over the city. “Don’t be intimidated by my dad, by the way.” Stiles uttered out suddenly. Scott looked over at him, eyebrows knitting. “Why?” He asked.

“Because,” Stiles sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “He can be a little overbearing sometimes. Especially when I introduce new people to him. Like everyone’s out to sully my virtue or something.” The fingers of Scott’s unbroken hand twitched involuntarily and he tried to think of anything but Stiles’ so called ‘virtue’. “In all seriousness though,” Stiles continued, unaware of Scott’s internal crisis. “He’s just being a parent and looking out for me.” Scott grinned. “I know what that’s like.”

Stiles returned the smile, hunching his shoulders in and wiggling a bit. “Are you cold?” Scott asked suddenly, noting the thin flannel button up Stiles currently wore and unmistakable shivering that Stiles was trying and failing to hide. The other boy shook his head, “I figured that I didn’t need to dress too warmly today. With it having been sunny and all…” He pressed back against the bench. “It’s fine though. I’ll live.”

Scott opened his mouth to suggest they go back inside when he remembered something. Leaning over and unzipping his duffel, Scott dug around until he found what he was looking for. “Here,” he declared, yanking out the gray _B.H.P.D_ hoodie that Stiles had left with him a few days ago. Stiles’ eyes glimmered when he saw the familiar sweatshirt; a wide grin crossed his face. “I knew I forgot it here!” He grabbed the hoodie from Scott and pulled it over his head and shoulders, nestling comfortably in the soft, worn material. He pressed one of the sleeves over his nose and snorted. “It smells like you. Did you cuddle it every night like Heath Ledger in _Brokeback Mountain_?”

Scott blushed. “You wish!” He retorted and re-zipped his bag. “I take if you’re a big fan of gay cowboys then?” Stiles scoffed at that, drawing the hood up over his head and pulling it tight, hiding his face from the cold. “Of course I’m a fan of gay cowboys. Love ‘em.”

The temperature had been steadily lowering since the teens first stepped out of the hospital; it couldn’t have been resting at anything over 50 degrees Fahrenheit. Scott tested the air and exhaled deeply, hot breath streaming out into the chilled night. He was vaguely reminded of when he was little, running circles around his mother and puffing out mouthfuls of air until his lungs burned, exclaiming _I’m a dragon!_ It was kind of surprising, how easily kids can make a game of something and be entertained. He scooted closer to Stiles until their shoulders were pressed together. Stiles didn’t seem to mind, he even seemed to lean into it a little.

Just then, the grumble of a car engine sounded nearby, catching Scott’s attention. He glanced up to see a slick colored vehicle pull up to the curb, the words _BEACON HILLS POLICE DEPARTMENT_ imprinted on the side in bold, white lettering. To his side, Stiles perked and released his hold on the hood. Looking over at Scott, he smiled and stood up. Scott’s side going cold at the sudden loss of contact “That’d be my dad, come on.”

Scott stood up, slight apprehension falling over him as he walked behind Stiles and toward the vehicle. He had never had a problem when it came to meeting strangers, albeit the slight awkwardness that came with trying to be friendly with someone new. It must have been the fact that Stiles’ father was a law official, and not just _any_ law official, but the _sheriff_. A sheriff who probably owned several guns, not that Scott was afraid of getting shot or anything, but still. Part of him was just naturally weary of anyone wielding a gun. Especially the overprotective sheriff-father variety.

The inside of the car was warm, dark and smelled exactly like Stiles, if only a little stronger and ever so slightly different. Stiles had opted to sit in the back with Scott, buckling himself in and curling comfortably into his seat with a pleased noise, reminiscent of a contented cat. Scott buckled his seatbelt as well, though he sat stiffly in his own seat, waiting to be addressed by the sheriff. As if on cue, Stiles’ father turned and set his gaze on the two teenagers in the back. Scott could see the resemblance between the man and Stiles, though his facial shape was a little squarer and his hair was a lighter shade. He looked worn out, lines etched deep into his face; he also completely ignored Scott at first, eyes training on Stiles wilted form instead.

“How’re you feeling, son?” He asked, a small twinge of concern lacing his voice. Stiles shrugged, “I feel fine, sleepy though.” He rolled his head to the side, face angled toward Scott. “Aren’t you gonna greet my friend?” He asked, directing the question toward his father. Scott froze as Mr. Stilinski fastened him with a gauging look before speaking.  He felt as though he was being weighed on a fragile scale.

“It’s nice to meet you, Scott. You look a lot like your mother.” The sheriff spoke evenly, the warmth in his voice betraying the sharp curiousness of his gaze. Scott almost flinched when Stiles’ father extended a hand toward him.

Finding his voice, Scott replied. “It’s nice to meet you too, and uh, thank you. Sir.” He grasped the sheriff’s hand and shook it; a simple two-pump handshake. Once the awkward exchange was done, the sheriff turned back in his seat and started up the vehicle, which growled deeply and began to prowl out of the parking lot. “So Scott.” He started, eyes firm on the road, “what happened to your hand there?”

Scott blinked and glanced down at his hand, that stupid orange cast bright and obnoxious even in the dark of the car. “I broke all of my fingers and fractured my wrist; had an accident in the hospital.” He informed matter-of-factly. Setting a hand over his cast and scratching the itchy spot where it rubbed against his skin.

“An accident in the _hospital_?” Came Mr. Stilinski’s response, incredulous but tinted with humor.

There was a snort from Stiles, who been cushioning his face against the window, fogging the cooled glass with his breath. “That’s what I said!” It actually hadn’t been what Stiles had said, but it was pretty close. The family resemblance was becoming a lot more evident.

\----

Stiles’ house was decently sized; _sheriff’s salary_ Stiles’ father had said with a dismissive shrug when he’d caught Scott gawking, it was smaller than Scott’s but very nice and clean looking. Stiles shot Scott a soft smile and shimmied past him to hop up the stairs of the porch, Scott trailed behind him, hand tightening subconsciously on the strap of his duffel. Once they’d entered the house, Mr. Stilinski headed toward what he guessed was the kitchen while Stiles’ snatched Scott’s sleeve and started tugging him toward a staircase. “Going upstairs!” He called lazily toward the kitchen and got a grunt in response.

Scott was dragged into what was obviously Stiles’ bedroom. Expectedly shambolic, but not overly so. The walls were laden with photos and posters, the bed was messy; blankets and pillows strewn about, several articles of clothing were scattered haphazardly over the floor as well as crumpled sheets of paper, and a worn out looking lacrosse stick stood leaning against a slightly overstuffed dresser. Scott found himself smiling at the homeliness.

The other teen held out his arms and spun in a lethargic circle. “Welcome to my crib, make yourself at home.” He then flopped face-first onto his bed, snagging a pillow and squishing it against his chest. Stiles turned his head and looked at Scott, “sorry if you were expecting to have some sort of wild party. I’m sorta crashing here.”

Back after they had left the roof and re-entered hospital, Stiles had excused himself to take his medication. The side effects were obviously starting to dawn on him.

Scott shrugged. “It’s okay. I’m pretty spent too.” He dropped his duffel bag on the floor next to Stiles’ desk and sunk down into the office chair that had been tucked against it. Stiles snuffled into the pillow under his head. “No, can’t go to sleep yet.” He sat up and stretched, “I’ve gotta get you settled and stuff. We also need to eat something, I’m like, starving.” He slid off the bed silently and stumbled over to his closet, opening the door and snatching out a puffy looking comforter. “Here,” he yawned and tossed it onto Scott’s lap.

“Um,” Stiles tapped at his chin thoughtfully and glanced around his room. “I think we have some spare pillows in the hall closet, hold on.” He tottered out the door, feet thumping loudly as he stomped down the stairs. Scott took the opportunity to closer examine Stiles’ room.

The walls were covered in a menagerie of things. He spotted a picture of a younger Stiles, probably about six or seven, snuggled against the side a dark haired woman who Scott could only assume to be his mother. There were pictures of animals; some printed and some drawn by hand, pictures of Stiles with his father, and even a picture of Stiles with a vaguely familiar red-headed girl who had her arms wrapped over his neck and shoulders. Other than photographs, there were also several tickets stubs from movies and concerts, rather obscure posters and numerous post-it notes covered in scribbly handwriting. It was almost like looking at a scrap book, laden with memories and experiences.

It reminded Scott that there were still a lot of things about Stiles that he didn’t know yet.

Stiles swayed back into the room then, arms loaded with fluffy pillows. He dropped them on the floor and swiped a hand through his messy hair. “I don’t think anyone’s really in the mood to cook tonight, so we can eat leftovers or order in. Which would you prefer?” Scott hummed, “anything is fine by me. As long as it’s y’know, edible.”

He was given a smirk for his effort.

They ended up eating some re-heated macaroni and cheese that Stiles had made the other night, it wasn’t a perfect meal but it still tasted good and that’s all the really mattered. After eating and chatting idly, Scott had taken two of his Lithium tablets, face screwing up in disgust as they brushed over his tongue and slid down his throat. Stiles had merely snickered and said _it gets easier the more you do it_. He now sat at the dining room table, absentmindedly tracing patterns against the smooth wood as Stiles scrubbed at the dishes. “Hey.” Stiles said suddenly, “I’m gonna take a shower after I get these dishes cleaned up, that okay?”

“Sure,” Scott replied, “do what you need to do man.” Stiles looked back at him and smiled before stepping away from the sink, flicking water from his fingers. “Feel free to go back to my room or whatever.” He suggested, moving passed Scott and out in the hallway to climb up the stairs. Once the sound of the shower started running, Scott shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to do. He settled for slinking out of the kitchen, hoping to slip back upstairs and into Stiles’ room undetected. Unfortunately for him, the sheriff; who had been sitting in the living room and thumbing through case files, noticed him and pinned him under his gaze.

“Scott.”

“Mr. Stilinski.”

The sheriff made a ‘come hither’ gesture, pointing toward an armchair near the couch. Scott obeyed, sinking into the chair and maintaining rigid posture, hands settled neatly in his lap. “So you and Stiles met in the hospital?” He asked, once again focusing his attention on the abovementioned files. Scott nodded and answered, “Yeah, I guess we just sort of clicked.” Stiles’ father _hmmed_ , pausing in his search and setting the files on a coffee table. He looked at Scott with tired eyes. “You know that Stiles is sick, right?”

Something chilling tightened around Scott’s spine, the utter weight of the word _sick_ wasjarring, the sheriff spitting out the word like it tasted foul. Unconsciously, Scott’s muscles tensed as if preparing to run. “Yeah…” he started, keeping his eyes locked on the floor. “Yeah, I know.” He forced himself to look up and meet the sheriff’s heavy gaze. “Is… should I…?” Scott wasn’t entirely sure what he was trying to say, maybe he was just ejecting words at random to cut through the thick tension. It wasn’t really working. The sheriff sighed and ran a hand through his short hair.

“You can stop acting like I’m about to gut you, Scott.” The older man said. “I just need you to know that it’s important to be aware of Stiles’ circumstances.” He paused and leaned back against the couch. “Stiles doesn’t have many friends. He needs people to stick by him and if you decide he’s not worth the effort because of his health or anything…”

“Sir,” Scott interrupted, trying not to flinch. “I’m not… I wouldn’t stop being his friend just because of something like that.” He had the feeling that this must have happened before, that people had simply discarded Stiles from their lives, because they figured not being perfect meant disposable. Thinking about it created a spark of anger within him. “Trust me.” He put as much sincerity into the statement as he possibly could.

Stiles’ father remained silent for a moment; he looked at Scott in a calculating manner. “Your mother used to talk about you a lot. About how much of a good soul you were. _Are_. “Scott froze, brow pinching. Unsure of what the sheriff was getting at. “I don’t know what I expected with you, after your incident with that Whittemore kid I was worried about you being around Stiles but, I can tell that she isn’t wrong. There aren’t enough good people in this world. It’s just nice to know that you’re one of ‘em.” A burst of warmth flooded Scott’s chest at that. Some part of him that had been locked away, bitter over his own absent father, preened under the unfamiliar praise.  He pushed that part away and forced out a shaky “thank you.”

The sheriff gave him an earnest smile before leaning forward to pick up the files once again. “Head on upstairs now.” He said simply, opening a file to a dog-eared page. Scott nodded and stood up from the chair, he started heading toward the stairs before stopping and turning back slightly. “If you don’t mind me asking…” He began, “how come my mom knows you so well? She’s never mentioned being friends with the sheriff or anything before so…”

Mr. Stilinski’s eyes went cloudy for a moment. “She was in charge of my wife’s hospital care.” He laughed bitterly and then added softly, “Now she’s in charge of my son’s.” The last bit didn’t seem to be directed at Scott.

Scott dipped his head; stomach suddenly churning, the mac and cheese obviously not settling well within his belly. “I…” He wasn’t sure whether it was the Lithium side effects finally rearing their ugly heads or the utter gloominess of the previous statement, but that didn’t matter because his dinner was coming up to meet him and he needed to find a garbage can. Fast. “I’m gonna throw up.” Scott garbled out and quickly stumbled into the kitchen, frantically searching as pressure built thickly in his chest and abdomen.

He heard Stiles’ father saying his name but didn’t respond, spotting the garbage can sitting at the side of the fridge and dashing toward it, Scott slid to his knees and shoved his face into the opening. Just barely making it in time before nauseatingly hot vomit shot up through his throat and out from his mouth and nostrils. Scott groaned as his body continued to expel semi digested stomach contents. A shadow fell over him and a warm hand pressed over his shoulder, he vaguely made out his name through the loud ringing that buzzed in his ears.

“-ott? Scott, are you okay?!” Mr. Stilinski asked, voice somewhat frantic and concerned. Scott heaved once more, but nothing came out. He spat out the disgusting traces of bile and slumped back against the refrigerator, looking up; he met the older man’s frantic eyes. “I’m fine,” he wheezed, “my medication…”

Something unreadable flickered through the sheriff’s eyes, but he simply nodded. “Stiles used to get sick all the time when he first started with his meds...” He scrubbed a hand over his face and looked around the room then back at Scott, “do you want any Tylenol or something.” Scott shook his head and swiped at the sweat that had collected on his forehead, suddenly feeling overheated. “No, I’m fine. I’m just gonna go back upstairs, thanks though.” The sheriff looked as though he wanted to protest, but conceded, holding out a hand to help Scott to his feet. “If you change your mind, let Stiles know and he’ll take of it.” Scott nodded and made his way back to the hallway and up the stairs, walking up them slowly as his stomach started twinging again.

As he entered Stiles’ room, the gurgle of the shower shut off. Scott heard the sound of a door opening and closing, then suddenly Stiles rounded the corner. Wearing nothing but a puffy towel wrapped around his waist. The other teen yelped and slapped a hand over his chest, “Dude! Why are you just standing there like that?”

Scott opened his mouth to answer but found himself slightly distracted, the twisting of his stomach suddenly overridden by flourishing heat. Stiles wasn’t exactly the definition of a muscular person, but his shoulders were broad and his abdominals were softly defined, muscles tight and compact. He also was a little hairier than Scott would have expected, not that that was a problem. Contrasting against the pale of his skin was a dark scattering of sparse chest hair and a thick happy trail that disappeared behind the towel. Scott was so wrapped up in taking in Stiles’ form that he nearly forgot that he’d thrown up not even five minutes ago.

“Dude,” Stiles spoke again, tipping his head to meet Scott’s eyes. His cheeks were flushed from the heat of his shower and his hair was damp and fluffy, resting against his forehead and making him look much younger than he normally did. “You look kinda pale,” the other teen commented. “You okay?”

“Uhm,” Scott stuttered, forcing his eyes to the floor and sitting down in the office chair, willing the sudden interest his lower regions started taking to go away. “Yeah, I just… threw up. While you were showering.”

“What?!” Stiles squawked, face scrunching. “What the heck man!? I wasn’t even in there for that long?” Scott chewed his lip, “I don’t know? It just happened, I’m pretty sure it has something to do with my medication.” Stiles was still staring at him as if he was lying to protect some sort of secret truth, but he kept his mouth shut. “Wimp,” he teased before turning and moving to his closet. If Scott stared at the dip of Stiles’ spine and soft swell of his buttocks, that’s his business.

Stiles glanced back at him before digging out a T-shirt and plaid pajama pants from within the closet. “I’d look away if I were you; believe it or not, but my ass is even paler than the rest of me. It’d probably blind you.” Scott nodded with a snort, turning to face the wall and trying to think of anything but what Stiles’ bared ass looked like. He yelped suddenly when a damp towel collided with his back and over his head, followed by a snigger from Stiles. “Asshole,” he goaded playfully and yanked the towel off, throwing it to the side. “Okay,” Stiles said after a moment, “you can turn around now.”

Scott turned and saw Stiles standing at the edge of his bed, torso practically swimming in the oversized shirt and toes peeking out from under the pajama pants. He looked adorable, really. The other teen crawled onto his bed and pulled back the blanket, “sorry you have to sleep on the floor.” He spoke with a frown, watching Scott as he arranged his comforter and pillows to his liking. Scott shrugged, “it’s fine. Not like your bed is big enough for two people anyway, right?” He looked up at Stiles and smiled crookedly.

“Well, it could be, I mean it’d be a tight fit but we could make it work.” Stiles said with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows, clutching his blanket tightly within his fingers. Scott scoffed, but smirked and looked away at his own hands, his unbroken one plucking at the blanket Stiles had lent him. He looked back at the other boy, expecting the same humor but was met with a somewhat staid gaze. Scott frowned, “what?” He asked, his stomach starting to stir again.

“I’m serious.” Stiles replied, his voice soft and oddly unfamiliar.

“… What?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy.
> 
> [check out my tumblr. you know you want to.](http://kakashipng.tumblr.com)  
> 


	6. stop your growing limbs and thinking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay three things; one is that I'm mega sorry for taking so long to update, my motivation has been completely out the window lately. Two is that I'm not entirely convinced or pleased by how this chapter turned out, like I feel like it starts out nice but deteriorates around the end. And three is that this is longest chapter I've written to date so that's cool.
> 
> Forgive and point out mistakes.

In the low light of the room, Stiles’ eyes glinted like chips of copper. Scott strained to get a handle over the rabbit-like thudding of his heart that was bumping heavily against his rib cage. He cleared his throat before asking again, “what?”

Stiles blinked at him before flushing a brilliant shade of red. “That came out a little suggestive, didn’t it?” He asked, eyes flitting around the room in a nervy way. The sudden backpedal nullified the roaring that had been filling his ears like fresh dirt over a fire. “Uhm…” Scott stuttered out, “yeah. A little bit.” Letting out a mildly nervous laugh, Scott tried to ignore the open fret on Stiles’ face. “I wouldn’t mind though. Sharing the bed, my back would probably thank me in the morning.” Stiles gave him a tired smile before running a hand through his flopped hair.

“You really don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Stiles said simply, “I don’t usually have people sleep over that often and when I do, we usually share the bed. I just got kinda used to sleeping next to someone after my diagnosis and stuff...” He stopped suddenly, turned and curled his body into his mattress, pushing his face into a plushy pillow. “It’s stupid though, forget I said anything.”

Scott frowned, something tugging uncomfortably inside of him. He sighed and decided to stop prevaricating. “It’s fine. I’ll sleep in the bed with you.” He started, noting the wide-eyed look that Stiles was giving him. “I’m okay with it, really.” He really was.

Stiles’ surprised look turned into something soft and without a word he shuffled over until he was practically pressed against the wall. Scott grabbed the comforter and extra pillows, tossing them onto the bed. He made to settle down when he noticed Stiles eyeing him with a raised eyebrow. Scott pulled a face. “What?”

The other teen smirked slightly, “are you gonna sleep with your jeans on?” He asked, voice teasing. Scott felt his cheeks redden, not from embarrassment but from something else entirely. Out of context, that sentence was very; for lack of a better word, rousing. His dick twitched feebly within the confines of his pants and he swallowed back a grunt. “Right,” he sputtered and stepped away from the bed. He scooted over toward his duffle, zipping it open and digging around until he pulled out his pair of sweats. “I’m just gonna… go to the bathroom and change.” He said, looking up at Stiles who just shrugged and sunk deeper into the bed. “First door on the right,” he called out as Scott trundled out into the hallway.

With impressive haste, Scott shuffled down the hall and into the bathroom, mindful not to close the door too loudly behind him. He took a quick glance at his reflection in the mirror; blood rested visibly under the skin of his cheeks and his pupils were a little dilated. Sighing, the teen undid his pants and shoved them down, stepping out of the pair and kicking them to the side. He briefly considered masturbating; it’d be a pretty effortless task to stroke himself to full hardness and then on to climax. Not without the images of Stiles wet and half-naked still fresh in his mind. Scott decided against it though, what with said boy waiting for him and the fact that he couldn’t even use his right hand.

Grumbling at the sudden reminder that he probably wouldn’t be able to jerk off for nearly a month, Scott pulled on his sweatpants and turned on the sink, cupping the cold water in his working hand and splashing it over his face. After some vigorous water splashing and thinking of everything that could possibly make his cock go soft, Scott flicked off the light and headed back into Stiles’ bedroom.

To his surprise, Stiles was already asleep. His body limp and curled on his side, facing the wall. Scott watched him for a moment, observing as his torso expanded and retracted with each placid breath. He remembered how tired Stiles had been earlier, so after all it wasn’t really that surprising that he’d fallen asleep so quickly. Scott stepped into the room as quietly as he could and closed the door, turning off Stiles’ desk lamp as he moved toward the bed.

Scott slipped under the covers, lying so his back was facing Stiles. There was about three or four inches of space between their bodies, but he could still feel the sleepy heat that radiated off from other teen. It felt sort of strange, to be tucked into a warm and comfortable bed after sleeping in the scratchy, bleak one at the hospital. And unlike his room back at that hospital, this bedroom was cozy and filled with signs of life, and lying in Stiles’ bed with Stiles sleeping soundly next to him filled Scott with an odd feeling of domesticity. It felt reassuring and for the first time in five days, Scott fell into a deep, uninterrupted sleep.

\----

When Scott started to wake up that morning; sifting through a hazy consciousness that shattered whatever dream he’d been having, the remnants tucking away into deep parts of his mind, he became aware of three things. The first thing was a soft buzzing coming from somewhere to his left, the second thing was that he had a rather appalling case of morning wood, and the third was an irksome warmth that itched through his veins; a choleric and familiar feeling that he could only associate with anger. Scott sat up slowly and pushed the heel of his hand against his embarrassingly tented sweatpants, he let out a low hiss at the heat that rushed from his groin and up his spine, and glanced over toward the nightstand next to the bed.

The obnoxious buzzing was Stiles’ cellphone, whirring impatiently against the wooden surface. Scott reached over and snatched the phone up, noting that it was 10:47 A.M. and that the title of the caller was someone named Lydia. _Lydia_. That was a girl’s name. Stiles never mentioned anyone named Lydia before; he’d also never mentioned whether or not he was in a relationship with anyone, did he? Scott was sure that he would’ve remembered something like that, a sick feeling coiled in his gut at the thought of Stiles having a girlfriend. His grip tightened on the phone, unsure if he should just answer it or wake up Stiles so he could answer it himself.

He stole a glance over at the other teen, who was curled into an impossibly tight ball and facing toward Scott, much closer than he had been last night and still sleeping. He decided to just let the phone ring, there was really nothing wrong with that choice. He didn’t want to talk to Stiles’ possible girlfriend or wake Stiles up when he looked so peaceful and cozy. Scott chewed the inside of his cheek when his attention was once again brought to his throbbing hard-on. He wasn’t sure if conjuring up cringe-inducing thoughts and images would work to kill his boner this time.

Quietly, he slipped out the bed, tossing Stiles phone back onto the nightstand and pulling out some clean clothes plus his cast cover from his bag and walked awkwardly toward the bathroom. A shower sounded really great at that moment and screw his dominant hand being broken, Scott would just have to learn to be ambidextrous because jerking off sounded even greater than showering.

Once the shower was on and the water was warm enough to fill the room with thick steam, Scott stripped out of his clothes and slid the bulky plastic cover over his cast, then stepped under the spray. He sighed as the hot water sluiced over his body, releasing tension from his muscles and washing away sleep-sweat. Scott scrubbed his hand over his face and then downward to wrap his fingers loosely around his cock. It felt kind of weird to use his left hand, but he’d get used to it. He stroked himself with a steady rhythm and pressed his other arm against the wall, albeit rather lightly, so he wouldn’t slip. Muffling a grunt, Scott increased the pressure and pull of his grip, water and pre-come collecting for a slick glide. Dense heat started to build at low in his belly as his orgasm slowly drew close.

Scott licked his lips and closed his eyes, leaning forward to rest his forehead against the damp shower tiles, and thought of Allison. He thought of the silky smoothness of her skin, how velvety and supple her breasts had felt under his hands. Scott started to jerk himself faster as images of Allison blushing vividly and moaning beneath him flooded through his mind. The heat that had been festering in his stomach was increasing and sending sparks up and down his spine. It was both ways surprising but not _entirely_ unexpected when the image of Allison subtly morphed into that of Stiles; pale and flushing and breathless. Stiles would probably have that stupid lopsided smile splitting his face and his stupid doe eyes would be warm but dark, heavily dilated with arousal. He was also probably very loud and responsive during sex, all that jerky energy and attentiveness channeling through. Scott was unable to hold back a groan as his orgasm then seized him, shooting ropes of come onto the shower wall.

Scott remained braced against the tiles for a few moments, simply breathing deeply as his orgasm dissipated to nothing, his dick softening against his palm. Part of him felt immensely shamed that he’d been practically fucking his fist while thinking of Stiles, the other part of him felt wholly satisfied and content; uncaring. The placated side won over, Scott shrugged away the shame and finished washing up, Stiles would probably never know about it anyway. He scrubbed his hair with shampoo and conditioner that had been sitting on the bath shelf and wiped his come from the wall, face heating up at the fact that he’d just ejaculated all over his friend’s shower. After stepping out, drying off, and changing into some fresh clothes. Scott meandered back toward Stiles’ room and geared himself up to look Stiles in the face and not immediately think about what had just happened.

Stiles seemed to be just waking up when Scott re-entered the bedroom, lying on his back and rubbing weakly at his eyes with his knuckles, mumbling that _it should be acceptable for people to just sleep for days at a time_. Scott smiled fondly at him and shoved his dirty clothes into his bag, “if that were possible then no-one would ever get anything done.” He commented. Stiles removed his hand from over his eyes and gave Scott a confused look, almost as if he didn’t remember that Scott had even been there in the first place. “Says the guy who’s apparently a morning person.” Stiles grumbled, sitting up and running his hands through his messy hair. He kind of looked like he just stepped out of a wind tunnel.

“It’s not morning anymore,” Scott replied wryly, “it’s already afternoon.”

Stiles paused in his ministrations, facing screwing up cutely. “What?” He asked, body twisting to pluck his phone up from the nightstand, turning it on and chewing the inside of his cheek. Scott cocked his head, interested.

“Crap.” Stiles yapped, dropping his phone to floor and scrambling out of the bed. Though as soon as Stiles’ feet touched the floor, his legs faltered and he sprawled forward, he might’ve even brained himself against the corner of his desk if Scott hadn’t jumped over to steady him with a grip to the shoulder. “Dude,” Scott said, fingers squeezing and looking down at Stiles’ legs distrustfully, “you okay?” Stiles nodded and placed his hands against the surface of the desk to keep leverage. “Yeah, just... my feet are kinda numb. Wasn’t expecting that.” There was a hint of confusion in his voice, but he didn’t expand on it. He pulled away from the desk and sat down in the office chair. “Can you grab my braces for me?” Stiles requested, pointing over to where they were leaning against the wall. Scott complied, picking them up and putting them into Stiles’ grabby hands. “Any reason for the rush to get out of bed?”

Stiles nodded, pushing his pant leg up and sliding one the braces on, “yeah. I have a friend who was supposed to visit me today. I completely forgot about it too. Ugh, she even called and everything, I have no idea how I slept through my phone ringing.” Well that most likely explained _Lydia_ ; she could still probably be his girlfriend though. Stiles could be one of those people who referred to their romantic partner as their friend. He decided to play dumb and innocent. “Who’s your friend?” He asked in a slightly tight way, feigning curiosity and sitting on the edge of Stiles’ bed.

“Her name’s Lydia,” Stiles explained as he finished strapping on his other brace. “She’s basically perfect, I’m sure that you’ll like her.” Once his braces were on, he stood up and pointed to the picture of him and the red headed girl on the wall. “That’s her, she used to go to our school but she went into the Running Start program. Which in essence means that she takes advanced classes over at a college.” Scott made a pinched expression before he could stop himself, so she was beautiful, really smart, and apparently perfect. He couldn’t compete with that, not entirely. Luckily for him, Stiles hadn’t seen his disdain. He was currently focused on pulling his pajama pants down and trying not to get them getting caught on the braces.

“I should’ve thought this through…” He muttered to himself pathetically, stumbling out of his pants and over to his dresser. Scott shamelessly indulged himself and tried to get a good look at Stiles, but his sleep shirt was so long that it stopped at his thighs, a couple inches of his pale blue colored boxers still peeking down. And not that Scott didn’t appreciate _all_ of Stiles’ body, but for someone with decently wide shoulders and softly packed muscles his legs were laughably skinny. He couldn’t bit back a grin coupled with a light snort. “I hear you snickering over there,” Stiles called without looking back at him, focused on digging around through his clothes. “You lookin’ for a fight, punk?”

“Not really,” Scott said with a smile, “I wouldn’t want to embarrass you or anything.” Stiles made a _pfft_ sound and yanked out a pair of dark colored jeans from an overflowing drawer, “excuses.” He tutted, “but y’know, whatever helps you sleep at night.” The other teen slipped on his pants and started looking for a shirt as well. “I dig the wet hair look on you by the way.” He remarked placidly.

“Really?” Scott mused drily, leaning back on his elbows and watched as Stiles squirmed out of his shirt; his bare torso pale and willowy. “Yeah,” Stiles sniffed. “Makes you look like a Giorgio Armani model or something.” Scott’s heart fluttered a little at that, and he found himself smirking in a smug fashion. “I’m not sure that I qualify for that job.” Stiles merely shrugged as he pulled on a plain gray T-shirt, “I’ll be the judge of that.” He said astutely, strutting passed Scott and out the doorway. “Now come on, we’ve got stuff to do.”

Scott didn’t bother to ask what Stiles’ definition of ‘stuff’ was; instead he tossed a diverted smile in Stiles’ direction and followed as he traipsed out of the room and down the stairs. Halfway down the steps, Scott heard voices wandering out from within the kitchen; one voice he recognized as the sheriff’s while the other sounded like it belonged to another man. It was oddly familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

Stiles stuttered to a short-lived halt before swiveling his head back to give Scott an unreadable look; he then looked forward again and continued descending the staircase, faster this time. Scott trailed after him without a word, more curious than anything; he almost plowed into the other teens back when he stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, grunting as he did so.

“Stiles,” the familiar voice addressed in greeting. Scott gaped in surprise when he saw who said voice belonged to. It was Derek; the nurse from the hospital, and Scott was understandably a little startled and some small part of him wanted to say something stupid like _we’ve got to stop meeting like this_. But he kept his mouth clamped shut, dipping his head politely when he made brief eye contact with the older man. Stiles on the other hand, seemed to snap out of whatever reverie he had been in and smiled. “Hey Derek, hi Dad.” He chirped, stepping fully into the kitchen and allowing Scott a berth of entrance.

The sheriff and Derek were both seated at the dining table, half-filled mugs of coffee settled atop it. Derek was out of his scrubs and was dressed in regular, casual clothing while Stiles’ father was dressed in full uniform, save for his holster which was sitting on the edge of the table. “You two slept for nearly twelve hours,” the sheriff commented as he sipped his coffee, “I know that teenagers are supposed to spend most of their time sleeping but I think anything over ten hours is a little heavy-handed.”

Stiles scoffed, bypassing the table and heading for the far counter to snatch up a box of cereal, he waggled the box of _Lucky Charms_ at Scott who nodded and inched further into the kitchen to lean against the wall. “If you really care that much you then should have woken us up,” Stiles said wryly and pulled two bowls out of the cupboard. “And besides. Scott was practically dying due to lack of sleep and my medication always knocks me out.”

Stiles’ father sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face, Scott expected him to make some sort of retort but he remained quiet. Instead, Derek spoke up. “It’s not healthy to sleep that long, Stiles.”

“Oh whatever.” Stiles derided as he poured milk and cereal into the bowls, plopping a spoon into one and sliding it across the counter toward Scott. “It’s not healthy to eat doughnuts or sleep in a fetal position, but people do those things anyway. Seriously dude, you’re way more uptight about kinda that stuff than anyone else I know.” Derek rolled his eyes flippantly before turning his attention to Scott, who froze under his gaze like a rabbit under a hawk, his mouth full of sugary cereal. “Scott,” he acknowledged. “How are you?” The implied, unspoken question of _how was the treatment_ hung unambiguously in the air.

Scott quickly swallowed down his food and tried not to choke on the crunchy pieces he’d yet to chew, “I-I’m good. The Lithium makes me nauseous, but I’m feeling good.” Derek nodded, “that’s typical for someone who’s just starting out on it. Your body will adjust to it eventually. How has your mood been?”

The teen shrugged, forcing himself to keep his eyes upward. It felt sort of awkward to be around Derek, let alone talk to him. Considering how disastrous there last encounter had been, though Derek seemed as though he’d completely forgotten about it. Or at least had put it behind him.

“It’s been… better.” Scott said, stirring the cereal absentmindedly, “but it does that. I’ll be calm and then I’ll start to feel angry again.” Derek took a swig of his coffee before saying, “That will change when the Lithium starts to kick in. Or at least it should.”

Scott tried to formulate some sort of response but was cut off when Stiles clapped his hands together, “so!” He exclaimed, “Why are you here Derek? Not that I don’t enjoy your oh so taciturn presence but I thought you weren’t stopping by until Wednesday?”

“I asked him to come over.” Mr. Stilinski spoke out, “I wanted to go over some things and I had a few… concerns that I wanted his opinion on.” Scott tuned out the rest of the conversation; he could only guess that Derek was here because of something in relation to Stiles, him being a nurse and all. A sick feeling overcame him when he remembered that Derek had mentioned being in training to be hospice nurse. Grimacing, he set the half-eaten bowl of cereal on the counter, appetite lost. Derek had told him that hospice was meant for people with terminal illnesses, so did that mean that Stiles had an incurable disease? Every fiber of his being screamed _no_ , Stiles didn’t even seem sick. The only indication of any ill health was the braces he wore on his legs. He was starting to feel a little queasy, and it wasn’t from the Lithium this time.

He needed to find out. He’d been curious about Stiles’ condition before, but now he needed to know with an urgency that burned hot and painful inside of his chest. Scott blinked when a hand suddenly waved in front of his face, he looked up to see Stiles standing very close to him and giving him a wide eyed stare. “Hey, is spacing out a regular thing for you?” He asked, voice sounding serious and playful at the same time.

“Uh,” Scott murmured, pinching his brows when he became aware of a faint ringing in his ears. “No, I just need…” He trailed off and looked around for some form of excuse, spotting his bottle of Lithium on the counter near the sink. Scott strode passed Stiles and plucked up the small container, opening it up and dumping the small tablet into his palm. While he administered them, Stiles sidled up to his side and propped an elbow down against the tiled surface.

“As I was saying while you were zoning,” He started. “Lydia wants to meet us in town. Derek said he’ll give us a lift, since I’m not allowed to drive anymore.” The last bit if the sentence was spoken with slight vehemence and it had Scott looking up from the sink and at the other boy. Stiles was narrowing his eyes at his over at his father, who was narrowing his own eyes right back. “Give it a rest, son.” The sheriff said, “Do we really need to get into this again?”

Stiles grumped and crossed his arms, “no. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not allowed to be mad about it.” He glanced over at Scott, “the muscles in my arms and legs are _apparently_ too pathetic for me to operate a vehicle. Though I think that if I can walk around just fine than I should be able to drive a friggin’ car.”

Mr. Stilinski rolled his eyes before standing and picking up his holster, strapping it around his waist and pointing a finger at Stiles. “ _You_ , behave yourself.” He said in what could only be described as a ‘dad-voice’, “Don’t forget to take your medication.” He then looked over at Scott, “make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble.” The sheriff said with a gesture toward Stiles, who mad an affronted noise.

“You do realize that I’m not a five-year old, right?” He scoffed and crossed his arms. “If anything, _I_ should be the one making sure _Scott_ stays out of trouble. He’s the randomly one kicking people’s asses.” Scott opened his mouth to object, but didn’t speak, deciding to roll with the punches, as such barbs should be expected from Stiles. From his seat at the table, Derek maintained an amused expression and looked as though he was trying not to smirk.

The sheriff rolled his eyes and sighed exasperatedly. “Just get out of here already.”

\----

Judging by Derek’s rather edgy, tough guy appearance, Scott would have expected him to drive some sort of dark colored muscle car. Instead, he drove a somewhat bulky Toyota that Stiles mockingly described as a Mom Car. He couldn’t help but agree a little, though not vocally out of the fear of getting eviscerated by Derek for the flimsy insult.

The drive into town was short, Stiles’ chatting and bantering with Derek the whole way. Oddly, Scott felt a little jealous, part of him wondering how much history the two had; other than Derek having nursing duties toward Stiles. He was a little ashamed at himself for being jealous of both Lydia and now apparently Derek, even though he knew that both of them had known Stiles longer than himself.

Eventually, Derek pulled the car up to the sidewalk in front a bookstore. Glancing over from Stiles to Scott and grunting, “Get out of my car.”

Stiles snorted but popped open to door and jumped out, rounding the side of the car and skipping up onto the sidewalk. Scott grabbed the handle of his own door but paused when he noticed that Derek’s sturdy gaze was still on him.

“What?” He asked, glancing up and meeting the other man’s pale eyes, forcing himself to not feel intimated but the steely light in them. Derek looked as though he was contemplating what to say, simply observing and dissecting Scott with predatory awareness. “Keep an eye on Stiles.” He said finally, voice serious.“  There were a lot of things Scott could have done in response; he wanted to retort in response that the sheriff had already told him to do so. But instead he settled for a curt nod and said, “of course.”

Scott jumped when a hand slapped the car window from the outside, Stiles peering in impatiently at him. “Move your ass.” He bade before pulling away to lope down the sidewalk. Scott glanced back at Derek briefly before opening the door and slipping out, he’d barely closed it before the vehicle started tearing away from the curb and back onto the road. Swallowed up into the flow of traffic.

Scott caught up with Stiles as he strolled down the pavement, hands stuffed in his pockets and glancing into shop windows distractedly. “So,” Scott started, “where is Lydia exactly?” Stiles smirked and looked over at Scott before saying, “at a Starbucks. Make hipster jokes all you want but they have some pretty good tasting beverages there. The food’s pretty good too.”

“Sounds decent,” Scott said. “Is it a regularly thing? Going out with Lydia?”

“Sort of.” Stiles answered dismissively. “I’m more of a just stay at home kinda guy, but she likes to go out and do things. So we compromise. Last time we stayed in, this time we go out.” Scott nodded, hunching his shoulders a bit and looked distractedly out at the road. It was cracked in some places and was covered in patches of newer concrete; the city should try and get it fixed soon before someone got in a wreck. “Am I… intruding or anything?” He asked, eyes trained on a particularly ugly crack that stretched from the gutter to almost the center of the road.

“What? No.” Stiles replied, voice somewhat incredulous. He stopped walking and tugged at Scott’s elbow, halting him and forcing him to make eye contact. “Why would you say that?” He asked, all pinched brows and vexed expression. Scott shrugged. “I don’t know? Because isn’t like a date or something? I don’t really want to be a third wheel.” He exclaimed, trying to keep the agitation out of his voice.

Stiles blinked, his face blank and devoid of emotion for a moment before morphing into something both amused and leery. “Dude. No. I mean Lydia’s really great and all and I admit to having had a crush on her at one point but no. We’re just friends.” He paused, eyes glittering and mouth quirking. “Is that why you’ve been looking like someone kicked your dog all day?”

Scott blushed and immediately looked down that the sidewalk, trying to find something to say. “Oh my god,” Stiles giggled, hand gripping Scott’s shoulder. “You are so cute.” He slipped behind Scott and nudged him forward, “c’mon. We’re almost there.”

While feeling both completely mortified and embarrassed, Scott managed to stumble forward as Stiles fell into step beside him. Another part of him was screeching with joy that Stiles wasn’t in a relationship with Lydia.

It wasn’t long before the Starbucks came into sight; a handful of people were seated at the roundly shaped tables in front of it, all chatting idly or sipping coffee. Scott instantly zeroed in on a girl who was obviously Lydia, who succeeded in looking completely bravura despite being seated all by herself. The photo on Stiles’ wall didn’t quite do her justice. Lydia’s skin was prettily pale and contrasted by the heated red painted on her lips, long ginger hair curtained her doll-like face and settled over her shoulders and loosely curled tresses. Intense green eyes framed by dark lashes focused on him and Stiles’ as they approached.

“Hi, Lydia.” Stiles chirped happily, pulling out a chair and sinking down into it. “What’s up?” Lydia smiled nattily and pushed away what Scott recognized as some sort of math textbook. “I’m getting ever closer to my Field’s Medal.” She answered with a flick of her hair and a glance over at Scott, who had awkwardly taken a seat next to Stiles. “And you are?”

“This is Scott.” Stiles answered for him, leaning over the table and accepting a very sweet smelling drink the Lydia pushed in his direction. “I’m sure I told you about him; met him at the hospital, we clicked, now he’s out. All that stuff.”

“Right.” Lydia said, eyes skimming downward briefly before moving back up to lock on his face. She reached out a dainty hand toward him, “Hello, Scott.”

Scott curled his lips in a smile and took Lydia’s hand in his own. “Um, Stiles has told me about you too.” He said. “Says that you’re perfect.” The girls’ eyebrows arched and she looked over at Stiles, who was casually sipping his drink and squinting at the sun. He noticed Lydia’s eyes on him and shrugged lightly.

She looked back over at Scott and wrapped her hands around her own beverage, “well, Scott. If Stiles had told me that you were going to be with him today I would have bought you something as well.”

“It’s fine,” Scott assured quickly and folded his hands atop the table. “I’m not really allowed to drink coffee with my medication anyway.” Stiles snorted at that and set his drink down. “I’m not either, but they have more than just coffee here y’know.”

Scott rolled his eyes and slumped comfortably into his chair. “Doesn’t matter.” He replied, “I’m fine. I don’t need anything.” Stiles didn’t respond, but muttered something the sounded like _stubborn_ in the lip of his cup. Lydia tilted her head curiously. “What kind of medication do you take?” She asked, propping her chin in her hand. “It’s a mood stabilizer.” Scott answered. “Nothing too serious.”

Lydia hummed and sipped her coffee, eyes evaluating before saying. “Stiles told me that you were in the hospital for attacking Jackson.”

“What?” Scott choked, snapping his neck to glare over at Stiles. “I didn’t attack Jackson! He provoked me.” He whined, skin flushing. Stiles raised his hands defensively, “Hey don’t look at me. I didn’t say that you attacked him. I just said something along the lines of ‘talk shit get hit, bitch.’”

“Oh my god.” Scott found himself groaning and running his hands through his hair. He looked up at Lydia whose expression was one of someone who was thoroughly amused. Scott sighed and straightened his spine, “whatever Stiles said to you is an awful abridged version of what happened, okay?  I seriously would never hurt anyone unless they did something that would make me lose complete control.”

“I believe you.” Lydia said simply, “Stiles has a habit of being dramatic anyway.” She sighed tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “and Jackson has a habit of saying whatever runs through his mind.”

“How do you know Jackson?” Scott asked.

“Sadly, he’s my boyfriend.”

Great. Scott resisted the urge to slap himself on the forehead, instead he shifted in his seat and ignored the holes Stiles’ eyes were burning into him. “I’m sorry.” He said on an exhale. It was senseless to keep trying at the point. His impression was made and there was nothing he could really do to change it, he could only accept it.

To his side, Stiles sniffed. “Sorry that you kicked his ass or sorry that Lydia’s saddled with him?”

Scott ignored him, opting to stop saying things and make everything worse. Lydia glowered at Stiles for the remark but did nothing more, shrugging plainly and taking another small sip of her coffee. “It doesn’t matter.” She said, closing her eyes and sighing. “If Scott had been the one to beat him then it would have been someone else eventually. If it changes anything, Jackson’s not always so rude, he can be good. Sometimes.”

Scott smiled at her. “I’m guessing there’s nothing you can do to make him be a good person more often?”

Lydia shook her head and set her drink down onto the table. “It’s not my problem. If I know anything, which I do, it’s that you can’t change a person. That’s entirely up to them.”

“I’ll say.” Stiles muttered, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning back into his chair, closing his eyes and tipping his head back. Lydia looked over at Stiles for a moment before leaning forward slightly. “By the way,” she started. “How are you, Stiles?”

The other teen sighed exasperatedly and dropped his arms to let them dangle over the arms of the chair. “I’m fine, everything’s fine. No change.” He opened one of his eyes and pinned Lydia with it. “I don’t want to talk about this right now. Please.” Lydia narrowed her eyes and looked at those she wanted to probe further, her lips parted slightly, though she relented. Pressing her lips into a somewhat grim line and leaning back into her chair. “Whatever you say.” She said in a clipped way.

From there, the three held idle conversation. Lydia elaborated on her intention on winning the Field’s Medal, or _her_ Field’s Medal. She made it quite clear that her securing it was a sure thing. Scott believed her. He could see why Stiles had had a crush on her. He found himself utterly terrified of her when Stiles had excused himself to use the restroom and she rounded on him with flashing eyes.

“Just so we’re clear, Scott.” She said in a steady voice. “If you ‘lose control’ somehow and hurt Stiles, I’ll see to it that you’re punishment is a lot more severe than being stuck in a hospital for a week.” He believed her about that too.

Instead of simply saying that he wouldn’t and assuring her of his ‘good guy’ status, Scott said. “You’re not the first person to give me this talk, so while I appreciate the warning, it’s unnecessary at this point. Even if I needed it, I wouldn’t hurt Stiles.” Lydia gave him a look like she didn’t believe him, eyes narrowing slightly, though she remained silent. Giving him a slight, almost unnoticeable nod as Stiles strode out from the café and back to the table, loudly asking where all the tension came from.

Not that she needed any sort of approval from him, but Scott determined that he liked Lydia. He was happy that Stiles had her. After schmoozing for about 45 minutes, Stiles declared that he was tired of sitting around and wrapped a hand around Scott’s wrist. “There’s a park not far from here,” He said cheerful and turned to Lydia. “We could go hang out there for a while?”

Lydia rolled her eyes and said. “Fine, but don’t expect me to play on any on any of the playground equipment.” She stood up and pulled her purse over her shoulder, plucking her phone from the table and glancing at it. “Jackson wants to pick me up in twenty minutes,” she sighed. “So we’ll have to walk quickly.” Stiles scoffed. “He just wants you all to himself. Possessive bastard.” Lydia made a non-committal noise as they started down the sidewalk.

They’d only been walking for close to five minutes before Stiles let out a loud, over dramatic moan. “My legs are tired.” He announced petulantly, stopping to stretch and waggle his limbs. He looked over at Scott and jutted out his bottom lip. “You wouldn’t have a problem with carrying me, would you?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Lydia drawled and scrubbed a hand over her face in the way a mother who was simply done with her children would. “This was your idea, Stiles.”

Stiles shrugged. “So? I’m sick. Sick people get priority.”

Scott smirked a little. “I’m not sure I could carry you for very long, buddy. Sorry.” Stiles flung his head back; groaning dramatically to the sky and muttering something about a wheelchair. Scott knew his request to literally be carried down the street wasn’t a serious one, but that didn’t stop him from saying, “I could give you a piggyback ride though?”

He suddenly felt Lydia’s heavy gaze on him and smirked when Stiles gave him a wide-eyed look. “Dude, seriously?”

Scott’s smirk morphed into a grin, “yeah. Piggybacks are easier and y’know, I don’t mind.” Stiles stared, face locked with undiscernible emotion. He looked like he couldn’t believe what Scott was saying while simultaneously looking completely grateful for what Scott was saying, his cheeks slightly tinted with a soft pink that made Scott’s heart leap. Lydia sighed histrionically as Stiles clambered up onto Scott’s back, hooking his legs around Scott’s waist and snaking his arms around his neck. “You are a gift to this earth, Scott McCall.” Stiles smiled into the back of his neck.

Scott couldn’t help feeling slightly chuffed. While it was completely random and weird for him to suddenly let Stiles ride on his back like a baby koala, it also made him feel completely content and warm inside that he had done something to make Stiles happy. He tried not to notice the look that Lydia was giving, one that made him feel like she could see right through him.

The park was a little packed. Children and dogs ran amok, watched and catered by owners and parents. Stiles slid off from Scott’s back, tucking close between Lydia and Scott as they walked along a path the wound around the perimeter of the park. The path was lined with trees and brightly colored flowers; occasionally a jogger or someone walking their dog would pass by. A steady but spaced out flow of people gently going about their day.

Scott suspected that Stiles’ was a little nervous; having voiced his concerns about being around large quantities of people not long after they’d met. Stiles got nervous about lots of things apparently, some completely trivial while others not so much. He’d told Scott that he would have small mental spirals over things like the link between the amount of times one’s heart beats and their lifespan to when the volcanoes in Yellowstone would erupt. Stiles had yet to have one of these episodes around Scott, but he was ready to act when one did happen.

Sometime during their hike around the track, Lydia had stopped and pulled her ringing phone from her purse. “Jackson,” She said with a slight frown before tucking the phone away and turning to Stiles. “I guess that’s my cue.” She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Stiles’ shoulders, who in turn tucked an arm around her waist. “I’ll see you in a week, okay?” Lydia spoke into his shoulder, pulling back and smiling up at him.

Stiles nodded, returning the smile. “Yeah, I’ll see you then.” She gave him a pat on the shoulder before stepping away; she looked over at Scott, “Nice meeting you, Scott.” She said, not giving him the opportunity to reply before sauntering off toward the entrance to the park, heels clicking loudly against the pavement.

Scott only watched her for a moment before turning his attention to Stiles. He’d been waiting since the morning to be alone with him, hoping to get a straight answer on what Stiles’ diagnosis was. Part of him felt shitty for being so desperate to know, but it was important.

“Stiles,” he spoke, grabbing the other teen’s attention. “Wanna go sit down?” Stiles looked over at him for a moment and shrugging. “Sure.”

Scott let him over to a somewhat secluded bench that had a nice view of the entire park, the glades and scattered copses green and vibrant. God-rays filtered through the canopy above them and dappled the shadowed ground the soft light. As soon as they were settled onto the bench, Scott spoke up before Stiles could say anything.

“I want to talk about something serious right now.”

Stiles blinked, looking a little unsure before relenting. “Um, okay. What is it?”

Scott looked down at his hands, suddenly uncomfortable. He sighed and decided to just get it over with. “Can you tell me what you’re sick with?”

He didn’t know what he expected, maybe for Stiles to flat out refuse, or stand up and storm off. But he didn’t count on the utterly stricken look that overcame Stiles face, and inwardly he squirmed and regretted asking. Just as he’d done before, though this time he didn’t back step. Stiles heaved a sigh and slumped back, closing his eyes. “We’ve been dancing around this.” He mused, voice oddly monotonous.

“Well,” Scott fumbled. “I don’t want to pry into your business, but I feel like this is really important-”

“It is important.” Stiles cut him off, looking completely forlorn. “Don’t feel like you’re wrong for being curious or whatever. This is something I should’ve told you a lot sooner but it’s just…” He paused and let out a frustrated sound, leaning forward and scrubbing his hands through his messy hair. “It’s so fucked up.” Scott swallowed, dry throat clicking uncomfortably. He didn’t want to know, he really didn’t. But he needed to. “It’s okay…” He started, voice low.

Stiles scoffed, pulling hands away and giving Scott laconic look. “Not, it’s really not.” He placed his hands on the edge of the bench, gripping the aged wood tightly and taking a deep, composing breath.

“I have a disease called Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis. It’s a neurodegenerative disease, basically what it does is weaken your muscles to the point of not being able to use them anymore and affect your ability to talk and breathe and swallow. It’s fatal and most people who have it die of either respiratory failure or pneumonia. Survival rate is around five years, and there’s no cure.” Stiles stopped to let out a wet laugh, “Did you know that Stephen Hawking has ALS? The fact that he’s been able to live with it for over fifty years of a complete medical marvel.” He looked over at Scott, eyes glazed. “Pretty fucked up.” The words were scathing.

Scott however, couldn’t speak. Couldn’t look at Stiles. Didn’t know what to say and even if he did know, there was no way he could force himself to utter out anything. Something dark, heavy, and painful settled over him. It filled him up and suffocated him, shutting down any emotions from being expressed and clogging his throat. Leaving him to feel nothing but breathless, pathetic, and completely frozen. He became aware of sharp pain in his left hand, and looked down to see that he was clenching his fist so tightly that his finger nails were digging deep into the soft flesh of his palm. He forced himself them relax his shaking fingers, having left crescent like shapes in their wake. Heavy heat settled over his neck and his legs itched like he needed to move.

“Scott?”

“Scott, say something. Please.”

There was a note within Stiles voice that Scott couldn’t ignore, he dragged stinging eyes up from the ground and forced himself to look into Stiles’ damp eyes. Stiles sniffled, a pitiful little sound send a sharp barb through Scott’s chest. “What are you going to do?” He asked, voice small and wavering, looking anywhere but directly at Scott’s eyes.

“What… what do you mean?” Scott asked, somehow managing to find his voice. Although it was stuffy and hoarse. It felt wrong, like it wasn’t his own.

Stiles shrugged and pulled away until there was a gap of space between their bodies. “I don’t know. Are you gonna leave, make fun of me? Do _something_?” Scott shook his head, suddenly angry. “Fuck, Stiles.” He hissed indirectly. “No, I’m not going to do that. That’s the last thing I’d do, okay?” He stopped, throat suddenly tighter than before. “I’m your friend, and even if I wasn’t, I promised to watch out for you.” If he turned his back on Stiles now, he’d have to deal with the sheriff, Derek, and now Lydia.

The other teen shook his head. “You promise? Even though I’m dying?”

Scott flinched as though he’d been struck, the words heavy and sharp. Painful. Scott forced himself to push away the denial and grief, now wasn’t the time for that. He sighed shakily and reached over to grab Stiles’ own trembling hand. Lacing their fingers and squeezing impossibly tight. Stiles clutched at Scott’s hand just as firmly, bony fingers digging between tendons and pinching flesh. It hurt, but it didn’t matter. Scott nodded.

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corny? Rushed and horribly written? Utterly amazing? Feel free to complain at me.


	7. and we go and i hope that we don't overdose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally meant to post this last week, but I didn't have any access to the Internet until now. That being said, keep in mind that I'm not a medical professional and my knowledge of such things is limited to what I can research. If you see anything that's wrong and sounds a little weird, just know that I am a sad teenaged girl who is just trying her best.
> 
> Please and point out mistakes.

“I’m going to Seattle.” Stiles said wanly from his huddled arrangement on the end of the couch. It was Tuesday, and it’d been two days and sixteen hours since Scott had learned of Stiles’ condition; he couldn’t even try to lie and say that he wasn’t compulsively keeping track of the time since being told. After school got out, Scott had headed straight toward Stiles’ house to visit him; the sheriff was working a double shift that evening and had requested that Scott come over as soon as he could. He’d been undeniably chuffed by the offer.

And tomorrow, Scott would be returning to the hospital to meet with Ms. Blake. It would be his first therapy session since being discharged, and he really wasn’t looking forward to it. The Lithium was starting to show signs of working, albeit slowly; though it would still make Scott a somewhat nauseous and laid up after taking it. He admittedly considered it a little lame that he still had to see a psychiatrist even when the medication was kicking in. Scott knew that if he complained though, he’d probably get a rather severe tongue-lashing from his mother about how no one should be solely dependent on drugs to handle their maladies.

Stiles himself was in less than stellar condition. A few weeks ago, he had started a new medication called Doxycycline, which was having awful adverse effects on his body. _Don’t freak out_ , was the first thing Stiles had said when Scott walked through the front door, his voice muffled by an oxygen mask that was attached to a small ventilator machine. _The Doxy makes it hard for me to breathe sometimes; I only need the BiPAP when I’m having lots of trouble taking in air. It’s fine_. It wasn’t, really. But Scott had kept his mouth clamped shut, teeth grating against each other and tongue pressing against the roof of his mouth.

“Why?” Scott asked after a quiet moment, muting the television and thus filling the room with the soft whirring of the ventilator. He cringed and tuned it out, instead focusing on the warmth of Stiles’ toes tucked underneath his leg. Stiles kept his gaze forward and poked idly at the mask covering his mouth and nose. “To get an ‘update’ on my diagnosis.” He answered flatly. “To see if the new meds are working properly and probably get an EMG done.” Stiles sighed and sank back into the couch, curling his toes against the underside of Scott’s thigh. “My dad wants to see what another doctor has to say on this whole thing. Even though three different doctors have already tested and dubbed me positive for ALS.”

A heavy shiver thrummed down through Scott’s torso straight to the end of his tailbone. “Why Seattle though?”

Stiles shrugged. “Apparently there’s a doctor there who’s devoted a lot of their time to ALS research or whatever. Dad thinks they’ll know a lot more than the other ones we’ve seen so far.” He squirmed, shucking a thick blanket off from his legs to the floor and running a hand through his hair. Scott frowned, taking in the pink tinge that razed Stiles’ cheeks and the beads of sweat collecting around his temples. “We don’t have to keep talking about this.” He spoke gently, brow pinching. “And… are you okay? You look-“

“Like a dying person?” Stiles interrupted in a dry, pithy manner.

“No.” Scott snapped, “You look like you might have a fever or something.” He leaned forward and pressed the back of his left hand to Stiles’ clammy forehead, then to his neck. Unable to hide the scowl that crossed over his face at the malaise heat the radiated from Stiles’ sweat damp skin. “Is this another side-effect?” He asked, getting up from the couch and grabbing the other teen’s legs to stretch them out over the space he’d been previously sitting in.

Stiles complied wordlessly and settled into a laying position, wiggling and huffing petulantly. “I don’t know.” He grumbled, breath fogging the rubber mask. “I just- don’t feel great. It probably is another stupid side-effect though, _exactly_ what I need right now.” He glanced up at Scott and fixed him with glazed eyes and slightly pursed lips, “will you be my nurse-maid?”

Scott rolled his eyes, but his chest loosened and warmed at the soft, open look on Stiles’ face. “Dude, I’m not my mom or anything. But I can try.”

“My hero,” Stiles mumbled quietly as Scott strolled out into the kitchen. After some shameless rummaging, Scott found a handful of small dishtowels, a large bowl, and a bottle of Tylenol. He tucked the pills into his pocket and filled the bowl with ice water, then went back into the living room. Stiles had grabbed the blanket up from the floor and had pulled it back over his legs; eyes glued indolently to the T.V. as colors and shapes flashed about on the screen. “Okay,” Scott announced as he set the bowl down on the coffee table, “I’m pretty sure that you need to strip for this to work.”

Fawn eyes fixed on him in a whiplash inducing speed. “What?” Stiles asked monotonously.

“If I remember this right,” Scott said, “I need to get these rags wet and put them on the places where your body heat is the highest. I think.” He scratched the back of his neck and focused on a colorful coaster sitting atop the table. “Your clothes will get wet if you don’t take them off and this should help lower your temperature. I also grabbed some medicine for you.”

The corner of Stiles’ mouth twitched playfully. “Maybe you really should think about being a nurse. You seem to know what you’re doing after all.”

Scott shrugged and grabbed one of the rags. “My mom would do this for me when I got sick as a kid; I’m still alive so it must have worked at least a little bit.”

“Must have.” Stiles parroted and propped himself onto his elbows. “I think I might need you to help me.” He stated, face even pinker than it was before. Scott smiled, ignoring the fact that his own face started to flush a bit. “Can you turn off the ventilator and then y’know, help me get undressed? My limbs are a little… weak.” Stiles inquired with a gesture toward the small machine on the floor. The teen nodded and moved to sit on the table in front of Stiles, leaning down the flick off the BiPAP. As soon as the hum of pumped oxygen quieted, Stiles hooked his fingers under the mask and slipped it over his head, inhaling harshly and rubbing at the faint welts that were pressed into the soft skin of his cheeks. “Wow,” He wheezed slightly, “that new medication _sucks_. It feels like my throat just shrunk by twenty sizes.”

“Why do you take it then?” Scott asked, unable to hide a small frown. “I thought that you took something else.” Stiles huffed out a laugh and tossed the mask to the side, “I’m guessing that you’re talking about my Rilutek, and I do still take that. ALS causes a lot of problems that require a fucking cocktail of meds to handle.” He let out a loud sigh and sat up straighter. “I think we’re going to stop my prescription of Doxy soon, even though it helps with my atrophy; it messes up my breathing too much.”

“I know what that’s like, the breathing thing.” Scott said, fiddling with the frayed edge of one of the rags with his unbroken hand, his right one still wrapped in the hard shell of a cast. He wondered if he would have a noticeable tan line once the cast was removed. “I had asthma attacks a lot as a kid; it always felt like someone was literally squeezing the air out of my lungs. I mean, I haven’t had one since I was maybe six or seven, but we still keep spare inhalers around at my house. Just in case, y’know?”

“Smart.” Stiles said with a lip stretching smile. “Now help me strip, please.”

With a bit of awkward shuffling, Scott managed to help Stiles’ dress down into just his boxers. Part of Scott thrummed and twisted and reacted to the fact that he’d basically just helped Stiles get naked, or at least semi-naked. And another part of him hoped that he’d get to see him in the buff again in the future with more appealing context. But he forced himself to push those feelings back, Stiles was sick and he wasn’t going to take advantage of the other teen’s vulnerable state for his own pleasure. “Okay uh... you need to lie on your stomach.” Scott said, face heating and stomach flipping.

Stiles blinked up at him but rolled over with a muffled snicker. “Do your thing, Scottie.”

Scott leered, then dipped one of the rags into the bowl of water and waited for the cloth to absorb the chilled liquid before pulling it out and ringing it. “It’s gonna be pretty cold.” Scott warned before folding the rag and pressing it onto the back of Stiles’ neck. Stiles yelped and jumped a little, but immediately relaxed as the cool touch chased away his heavy body heat. “Freaking cold,” he muttered into his pillow with a sigh, “but it feels… better.”

“Good.” Scott said as he tucked two icy rags into the creases of Stiles’ elbows, then two more to the backs of his knees and one spread over his lower back for good measure. By the end, Stiles was shivering a little, so that had to mean something. “Do you have a thermometer?” Scott asked, pulling out a few Tylenol tablets. “Bathroom,” Stiles chittered, “probably in the first drawer. Hurry up, it might be hard to believe but this isn’t very much fun.”

Scott scoffed and held out the tablets and a glass of water toward Stiles, then stood up and walked around the couch. “Take these, I’ll be right back.”

A beat of silenced passed. “By the way,” he heard Stiles call as he meandered down the hallway. “Derek is supposed to come over at some point, like soon-ish. Not that my dad doesn’t trust you or anything, but well y’know. Derek’s a nurse and all that.”

Scott shrugged as he entered the bathroom, even though the action was lost considering Stiles couldn’t see him. “Okay.” He said in a cavalier way. Stiles had previously explained to him that Derek was assigned to be his caretaker should he be put on hospice, and has since become more of a family friend than just Stiles’ nurse. Sometimes he would visit to check up on Stiles condition and do some small tests, other times he would visit just for the sake of visiting. Scott thought that it was kind of nice actually; the older man always looked so imposing and while he absolutely had no doubts that Derek was more than just bark, it was a little cheering to see that he could be a bit of a softie too.

It was also nice to see that Derek wasn’t just friends with Stiles, but with the sheriff also. Scott could only imagine what he must be going through, and if he was in the same position he would want someone to confide in too.

He searched through a few of the drawers and then opened up the medicine cabinet, seeing a white and blue thermometer sitting on one of the small shelves. Scott reached for it and jumped when the doorbell suddenly went off, its knell rolling and chiming throughout the house. It was most likely Derek, and Stiles wasn’t wrong when he said that Derek would be arriving soon. The older man was undeniably prompt. “Scoooooott.” Stiles hollered in a whiny voice, “get the dooooor.”

Scott smirked to himself, snatching up the thermometer and slipping out of the bathroom toward the front door, tossing the small device over the couch and onto the coffee table as he passed by the living room. He hesitated slightly before opening the door, fingers twitching around the brass handle, but pushed back any reticence and pulled it open. Expectedly, it was Derek, dressed fully in dark red scrubs with a leather jacket over his torso. Derek blinked at Scott, looking more than a little surprised to see him. “Scott.” He greeted coolly.

“Hi. Derek.” Scott floundered back, stumbling to the side of the door frame to let Derek in. “Stiles is sort of sick at the moment, that’s why I answered instead of him.” Stiles let out a snort from the other room, “he’s not going to eat you Scott, calm down.” Derek glanced over at Scott with a raised eyebrow while Scott suddenly found the floor to be very interesting. He noticed that Derek was carrying a medical bag, and kept his eyes on it as he followed the older man into the living room.

Derek set the bag down and crouched in front of Stiles’ sprawled form on the couch, face slightly screwed in confusion. “Sick?” He asked and pushed his hand against Stiles’ forehead, Stiles mewled and weakly swatted at him in return. Scott took a step forward. “Is it a side-effect from the new medication?”

“Symptoms of sickness can be side effects of Doxycycline, or really any medication for that matter. But feverish indications are less than common and if this was a side-effect, it would have been brought on a lot sooner; more around when Stiles was first adjusting to the drug.” Derek answered astutely. He hummed and tapped at his chin in a thoughtful way, “you’ve had fevers before taking the Doxycycline, right? I remember your Dad mentioning something about this last time I was here.” He asked, directing the question at Stiles.

Stiles sighed and let his eyes fall closed, looking completely worn out and sadly pathetic. “Yes. Usually during the night though, this is the first time it’s happened during daytime. So side-effect is obviously ruled out.” Stiles paused, as if he was carefully weighing the words he was about to say. “Is this… an ALS thing?” Derek shook his head and stood up, moving to sit in the armchair near the couch. “Recurring fevers don’t coincide with it.” He mused, a small knit forming between his thick brows. “But if it’s not caused by your medication I can’t think of a reason as to why they would be a common occurrence.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be a medical professional?” Stiles snarked in a jejune way. Derek completely ignored the comment and picked up the thermometer from the table, “put this in your mouth. Underneath your tongue and don’t take it out until it beeps.”

“I know how to do it.” Stiles grumbled querulously before sliding the thin end of the thermometer into his mouth. Scott almost looked away when warmth sparked low in his stomach at that, feeling a speck of shame at his body’s reaction to the sight of Stiles’ soft lips pouting around the thermometer. He settled for drawing his gaze to his surroundings and anywhere but Stiles. The mild yet attentive expression on Derek’s face, a fuzzy looking bee crawling on the outside of one of the windows, a half-empty can of Pepsi quietly fizzing from the coffee table. When the thermometer finally beeped Derek yanked it out of Stiles’ mouth, who let out an indignant yelp, and read over the result. “100.3.” He announced, a scowl setting in. “It could be worse, but it’s still above average. I suggest you just try and sleep it off and we’ll take your temperature again in a few hours.”

Stiles sighed and sunk back against the couch, reaching a hand up to adjust the towel on the back of his neck. “Great.”

“Scott.” Derek said suddenly, standing up and reaching for his medical bag. “Can you come with me to the kitchen? I need your help with something.”

“Um,” Scott said, shuffling his feet a bit. “Sure.”

In the kitchen, Derek set his bag on the counter and opened it up. He reached in and pulled out a few orange pill bottles, a clear glass bottle containing a tinted liquid, then a couple of pamphlets. Scott sidled up the counter and peeked at the tiny labels on the bottles, they all had Stiles’ name on them, as well as complicated drug names. “What do you need help with exactly?” He asked unsurely, drumming his fingers on the smooth, granite surface.

“I don’t.” Derek said tersely as he closed the bag with a muted _snap_.

Scott frowned. “Okay… then why did you want me in here?”

“I’m going to teach you about some of the medications that Stiles needs to take; if you’re going to be around him then it’s important that you know what’s going on.”

“Alright.” Scott said after a short pause, swallowing thickly. Feeling a bit gratified that Derek would trust him with something like this. An odd determination washed over him, he wanted to be able to take care of Stiles properly, and for as long as time would allow. “Are these ones new?” He asked with a motion to the bottles that Derek had produced. The older man nodded and picked up the clear bottle filled with liquid, holding it up to Scott. “This is Ceftriaxone; it’s an antibiotic that’s injected intravenously or intramuscularly. Antibiotics aren’t typically given to patients with ALS because they don’t always work. Though this particular one can occasionally initiate strength improvement with atrophied muscles. Hopefully it’ll make a good replacement for the Doxycycline, should Stiles be taken off of it.”

The side effects range from mild to serious, like tenderness to the injection area and dizziness to vomiting and heavy chest pains.” He set the glass container down and plucked on the pamphlets up and waved it in front of Scott’s face. “Make sure his father reads this through before any injections are made. Got it?”

Scott nodded, chewing his lip. “Got it.”

“Good,” he said and then gestured toward one of the orange plastic bottles. “This one is Trihexyphenidyl. It helps patients suffering from dysphagia in swallowing their saliva-”

“What,” Scott interrupted forthrightly, “Stiles can’t swallow his spit?”

Derek gave him a bit of a hacked off look, jaw ticking slightly. “He can, but just not all the time. It’s called dysphagia, it’s a common symptom of ALS and unfortunately it’ll most likely only get worse. He only recently started showing signs of it though, so that’s a good sign.”

Scott heaved a sigh and looked at the ground, insides starting to roil uncomfortably. “I don’t get how you can be so… blasé about all this.” He looked up to see Derek staring at him expressionlessly, eyes open and blank. “That means casual.”

“I know what blasé means, Scott.” Derek answered drily. The older man sighed and leaned back against the counter, studying eyes never leaving Scott’s own foxed ones. “How do _you_ feel about all this?” He asked, voice as steady as ever.

It was a little jarring and out of left field. Scott had yet to entirely figure Derek out, and had no idea what to expect from him considering that his first _real_ interaction with the man ended with Scott getting a broken hand, not that it was really Derek’s fault but still. It felt something close to awkward and being on the receiving of Derek’s calm side increased that a little. And questions regarding his wellbeing were doubly so. “I guess,” he started, shoulders tensing. “That I don’t know exactly what to feel. This is hard, obviously. But it’s also just… new.” It was a vague answer that wasn’t exactly true. If Scott could name one emotion that he was feeling it would be anger. Though that one was nothing new to him. “Why?”

Derek shrugged. “It’s like you said, this is hard.” Scott felt his lips quirk. He glanced at the array of medications sitting on the counter before looking back to Derek. “Why do you do this?” He asked, “I mean. What made you want to be a nurse or, a home nurse? It just seems like such a depressing job.” Derek didn’t answer right away; a hazy look overtaking his sharp features. “I didn’t always want to work in medicine.” He said finally, “it wasn’t until I was in my late teens that I decided that I wanted to do this.” Scott hummed and moved to sit on one of the dining table chairs. “Did you just wake up one day and decide that you wanted to be around sick people all the time?” The question came out sort of snappy, he couldn’t help it.

“No,” Derek said, ignoring Scott’s prickly tone as he pulled out one of the chairs for himself. “I had a family member, an uncle, who had to be put under palliative care a long time ago. I just remember watching his nurse work with him and feeling inspired. Most are so quick to dismiss the sick and disabled they seem to forget that they’re still people and they just need someone to be there for them, though that’s human nature I suppose.”

Scott simpered, Derek wasn’t exactly wrong. “Humans could be worse. Wolves often kill and eat sick pack members.” He stated sardonically.

“True” Derek said in a flippant way and lounged back into his chair, chest open and relaxed. “But wolves seem to respect each other more than humans do, in any case.”

“True.” Scott mimicked, exhaling loudly through his nose. Suddenly feeling tired and heavy. Stretched thin and empty “This is really fucked up though.” Voice quiet and not really expecting Derek to respond. “Things like this shouldn’t happen.”

“Things like this happen all the time, to both good and bad people.” Derek answered remotely, his mouth twitching up into a mordant kind of smirk. “In our thousands of years of existence mankind has yet to adapt to how truly horrific life can be, like an event horizon of denial.” Scott felt himself agreeing, if there were ever a way to explain society in one sentence, that would be it. “It’s true though.” Scott said, rubbing a hand over his cast irritably. “That life can be… horrible. And that fucking sucks.”

Derek looked at him ponderingly. “Have you ever seen a film called Antichrist?” He asked, tone wondering and face set in what could only be described as calculation. Scott was a little thrown at the seemingly out of subject question. “No,” He answered after a pause. “Why?”

“I don’t recommend it,” Derek spoke solicitously. “It was only shown in a few countries, and about four people fainted during its premier.” Scott grunted in a bemused way, curious why Derek had brought up some random and apparently inappropriate flick. “Really? Must have been a pretty messed up movie then.”

The older man gave him a small smile at that. “It is. And there were a number of people who absolutely hated it, saying that it was misogynistic and unnecessarily gruesome. Other people said that it was a macabre masterpiece and applauded it for its taboo shattering content. It only had two pivotal characters, and throughout the film neither of them are referred to by names. Just ‘He’ and ‘She’, maybe in an attempt to prevent audience attachment to either of them.”

Scott blinked fair-mindedly. “Um, not to be rude.” He interposed, “and not that this isn’t interesting but is there a point you’re getting at?”

He expected Derek to give him an annoyed look, but the older man’s face remained impassive. “The _point_ is,” he started, “is that this film illustrates how abysmal this world is and the complete meaninglessness of everything. The director chose to use a forest as the main setting because he felt that forests are always shown as scenic and romantic places, while in reality they are utter hell to the creatures that live there. That every moment those animals are alive; they’re surrounded by other animals that will kill them without a second thought. It doesn’t matter how beautiful or how terrible something is because there will always be something else to weigh it down and even it out.”

Scott balked a bit, throat clicking on a swallow, the odd weight of Derek’s words sinking under his skin in a strangely smooth way. Prickling along his nerves and settling contentedly within his chest. He’d never looked at things in such a way before, not that his eyes were suddenly opened and everything from that point would change, but it made him feel… comforted. In a chilling, unorthodox way. It was, irrefutably, something to think about. “That’s,” he dragged out, “I don’t even know. Profound?”

Derek sighed, not in an exasperated way, but more of a complacent and longsuffering way. “I suppose it’s worth it to mention that the original idea for the film was that the Earth was created by Satan, as opposed to God. The way that you can look at the world is that bad things will just be bad things. We can’t question them or fight them or change them. They just _are_.”

He nodded slowly, the veracity was palpable. Even though he knewthis was true and that some things just _were_ ; as Derek had put it, a deep and incontestable part of him wouldn’t accept Stiles’ illness. Couldn’t accept it. To do so would feel as though he was just laying back and tolerating the fact that the other boy had an illness that was killing him at a deliberate rate. It was all so confusing and messy, and it would never be something that Scott could figure out, not that it was some sort of great mystery. The waters were muddy and he would just have to find a way to deal with it.

“You know,” Scott said wryly, “if a normal adult heard me talking like this I’d probably get sent back to the psych ward.”

Derek laughed; voice a whisky smooth warble and eyes crinkling at the corners. “Probably.”

\----

It wasn’t long before Stiles woke up, all bleary eyed and sleep pliant. The towels had soaked up his body heat and gone warm; so Scott careful removed them and set them aside, then flattened his hand against the other teen’s forehead. “How do you feel?” He asked, removing his hand and watching as Stiles’ eyes lazily tracked the movement. Stiles shrugged and pulled his blanket up over his shoulders. “I feel cold, that’s about it though.” His skin was a little waxy and there were smudges of purple-gray under his eyes, he looked tired and unwell. It made Scott want to bundle him up in blankets, take him somewhere safe and warm.

Scott nodded then looked over at Derek, who was seated in an armchair and quietly reading a thick book titled _Let Me In_. He vaguely recognized it as being about a child vampire or something. “Should we take his temperature again then?” Scott asked, ignoring Stiles’ whine of protest. Without looking up from his book, Derek nodded. “Anything above 99.5 is over average.” He said casually, licking his thumb and turning the page with the quiet shuffle of thin paper.

Stiles looked less than thrilled, heaving a sigh before sticking the thermometer into his mouth once more. The temperature ended up being a relatively normal 98.9, Scott couldn’t help but heave a sigh of relief. Stiles seemed pleased as well, he pushed himself up from the couch no sooner than after thermometer was removed from his mouth, stretching his arms high above his head and wiping tacky sweat from his brow. “I’m hungry.” He stated abruptly once he’d satisfyingly shook out all of his limbs, smiling briefly at Scott and focusing his attention on Derek. “Can you take us to get some food?”

“You have things to eat here.”

“So?”

“So no.”

Stiles frowned and slumped back. “Are you really going to say no to a sick person?”

“I’ve had no problem with it before.” Derek answered, closing his book and getting up from his chair with a sigh, tossing the tome onto the table and moving to pick up his car keys, which were sitting atop a bureau placed near one of the windows. There wasn’t really any meaning behind the words, Scott noticed. “You two stay here; I’ll go and get something. What do you want?”

Stiles smiled in triumph and he flopped back against the couch cushions. “Of course you couldn’t say no to me.” He said languorously, idly scratching at his throat, and then looked over at Scott with gilded eyes. “What sounds good to you? Personally, I’m in the mood for something unhealthy. How does pizza sound?” Scott could practically feel Derek rolling his eyes from the other side of the room. “Sounds fine to me,” he said easily.

Derek huffed and muttered something about grease and fat before tromping down the hallway and opening the door. “Get breadsticks!” Stiles called out, getting a noncommittal sound of acknowledgment in return before the door closed with a muted _thump_.  After Derek’s car roared to life and growled down the road, Stiles turned to Scott and patted at the remaining space on the sofa, offering up the spot. “So what did you do when I was sleeping? You always look like you’re gonna shit yourself when you’re around Derek so I’m guessing you probably hid from him, right?”

“Not really,” Scott said and sunk into the comfortable softness of the couch. “We just talked about stuff.” He reached a hand up and rubbed at his eyes. “Nothing really important.”

Stiles blinked at him, eyes narrowed and more than a little suspicious, but they softened back to a more neutral look after a few moments. “Okay.” He said once a heavy beat of silence passed, unfolding his legs and digging his toes into Scott’s thigh. “So how long do you plan on staying? It’s getting kind of late.” He gestured toward the windows for emphasis. The sky had changed from a pale blue to a stained painting of dark navy that bled into inky black, milky remnants of daylight lined the horizon. Scott shrugged and gently swatted at one of Stiles’ legs. “Well, I’ll probably just stay until your dad gets home.” Stiles frowned at that, “he doesn’t get home until after midnight though and you have school tomorrow.”

“That’s fine.” Scott replied, “I wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving you here all by yourself.”

“You know that I’m not helpless, right?” Stiles spoke with a raised eyebrow. Scott chewed the inside of his cheek, going silent for a trice. “Still,” He said. “I don’t think you really even want to be here by yourself anyway. It’s fine.”

Stiles sighed and shrugged, surrendering. “You got me there.” He eased, smiling little and soft. “We can just hang out and watch movies until you leave then.”

“Yeah.” Scott agreed, looking away as cottony affection flourished inside of him. An odd lump formed in the back of his throat, making him feel itchy. His eyes glued themselves numbly to the television as Stiles’ chattered mindlessly about nothing, flipping through channels until he landed on Showtime. On the screen, two young men; one with dark hair and one with ginger hair, were fervently making out in what looked like a gay club. Scott flushed brightly at the sight and quickly glanced over to Stiles in a not so elusive way. Stiles simply watched with interest for a moment, then continued his channel surfing before landing on some Discovery Channel show.

Whatever the show was, it apparently involved a ninja and a pirate fighting each other. Or, two guys wearing ninja and pirate costumes pretending to fight each other at least. Scott slumped his shoulders a little, embarrassed at his own reaction to… whatever that other show had been. He obviously had no objections to guys kissing other guys, but it just wasn’t something he saw very often.

“Did that bother you?” Stiles asked suddenly, looking over and meeting Scott’s eyes. Scott blinked, “did what bother me?” He knew what Stiles was talking about, but playing dumb was something Scott found himself to be particularly good at.

Stiles set the remote down on the arm of the couch and looked at his hands, fingers knotting together in a familiar fashion. “What was on the T.V., those two guys.” Scott frowned, shaking his head. Not surprised that Stiles had gotten that impression. “Of course not. Why would it?”

“Because a lot of people _are_ bothered by that kinda thing and I dunno, you seemed surprised by it or whatever so I just figured…” Stiles replied, trailing off awkwardly, eyes flitting about the darkening room. Scott frowned and scooted a little closer to the other teen, until there was only a small amount of space between them. “Well, I’m not.” He said, heart thumping a little, though he wasn’t sure why exactly. “Does it bother _you_?”

Stiles looked at him incredulously and bristled, as if he’d just asked the most ridiculous question anyone had ever asked him. “Fuck no,” he snapped in a sharp, clipped way. Then flushed immediately after speaking, as if he didn’t mean for the outburst, hunching in on himself a little. “Sorry,” Stiles mumbled, eyes darting away nervously. “It doesn’t bother me because I’m… like that.” He drew in on himself even more as soon as the words left his mouth, as if he was expecting Scott to have a violent reaction. Which was completely disheartening to think about.

 “Wait,” Scott cut in, shoving those thoughts away and keeping a level voice, heart beating a bit harder. “You’re gay?”

“No.” Stiles said with a slightly dramatic eye roll. “I’m bisexual. I think” He paused; face setting and brow pinching a tad. “But don’t tell anyone. I’m not exactly ‘out’ yet.”

Scott didn’t know what to say, he kind of wanted to just lean in and kiss Stiles right then. Like really bad, and another part of him wanted to thrust his fist to the air in victory. Knowing that Stiles was attracted to guys as well made something inexplicably loosen inside of him, completely overjoyed that he had somewhat of a tangible chance with the other boy now. Unconsciously licking his lips, Scott shifted in his seat a little and gave Stiles a wide smile. “I won’t… and I’m actually really kind of flattered that you told me? I know how important this sort of thing is and I’m happy that you trust me.”

Stiles returned the smile, though his was a little pinched. “Yeah, I do trust you.” He said with a shrug and pulled the blanket up to his chin. “This is still new to me though. And I’m uh, still figuring things out, so to speak.”

“Right,” Scott said on a nod. He wanted to tell Stiles that he was the same, that he’d been where Stiles was in figuring out the fluidity of his sexuality. Though Scott had never been with a guy before, he ultimately _knew_ that he was just as attracted to them as he was to girls. Explaining this to his mom had been a bit of a struggle, while she had simply hugged Scott and told him that she still loved him no matter what, she hadn’t exactly understood how a person could be attracted to both genders. Not that she didn’t approve, she was just unfamiliar with it. Scott wondered how Stiles’ father would react should Stiles’ choose to come out to him, though he was confident that it wouldn’t be a negative reaction. The man loved his son too much to not be okay with it.

He kept his mouth shut though. As much as he just wanted to say, _hey I’m bi too so let’s kiss or something because I really like you_ , it didn’t feel like the right time. Stiles was accordingly still new to the spectrum of sexuality, and Scott wanted to make sure that he was comfortable with himself before he tried anything. Until then, he would just be have to play it casual while subtly showing how he felt until the proper moment to ‘confess’ what was up. Or something along those lines. It wasn’t the best plan, but Scott was never very great at planning anyway.

Stiles let out a vocal sigh then, slumping into a boneless arrangement. “Kind of a shitty time for me to be exploring my sexuality.” He tilted his head to rest against the back of the couch, lissome neck on display. Scott took a moment to notice that he was still only wearing his boxers, the dancing light of the T.V. making his pale skin glow an eerie blue. He sort of looked like a ghost.

Without waiting for Scott to say anything, Stiles continued. “I have other things to be worrying about than figuring out what kind of people I may or may not like.”

Scott frowned. “That’s understandable.” He said softly, “try not to spend too much time overthinking things. You’ll only freak yourself out.” He got a barked laugh in response. “Are you kidding?” Stiles huffed. “Overthinking things is all I ever do.” His eyes slid over and pinned Scott down, dark and hooded with small sparks flashing in them. “I appreciate the gesture, but there are some things that you just can’t put out of your mind, trust me.”

Scott opened his mouth, fishing for words, but was saved when a car rumbled out in the driveway, its headlights splitting through the room briefly before going dim. Stiles’ demeanor seemed to shift at that, moving to sit up straight and smiling insipidly. “Derek’s back,” he announced and pushed the blanket off, jumping up from the couch and wandering toward the kitchen. Scott remained seated for a moment, a little disconcerted at the sudden swing of the other boy’s disposition. It wouldn’t be far from the truth to say that Stiles was trying to keep a reign on his emotions. Standing up, Scott moved to follow Stiles into the kitchen.

Less than a minute later, Derek shuffled inside with a pizza box balanced on one hand, looking thoroughly unimpressed. He set the box on the dining table and then pulled back his sleeve, revealing a watch, and checked the time. “I have to leave now,” he said, voice composed. ”I’m working a night shift and I’m already running a little late.”

Stiles, who had already pulled out a large slice of the pizza and started shoving it into his mouth like a starving animal, simply grunted in acknowledgment and proceeded to stuff his face. Derek rolled his eyes and placed his hand on the back of Stiles’ neck, squeezing his nape for a moment. “Make sure you take your meds and have your father call me tomorrow.” Stiles hummed his response as Derek pulled away and turned toward Scott, reaching out and picking up his medical bag from the counter. “Remember what we talked about.” He said, voice low, as though he didn’t want Stiles to overhear.

Scott gave him a slack jawed looked before he realized what the older man was referring to and nodded; giving Derek a quick grin as he slipped passed Scott and gave him a clap on the shoulder. He glanced back over at Stiles, who was eyeing him curiously. “What?” He asked.

Stiles gestured toward the pizza, cheeks full and a line of grease dribbling down his chin. “Eat some.” He insisted, voice muffling around the food.

The pizza didn’t survive long, barely lasting an hour before all of the cuts were devoured. If Scott’s mother had been there, she’d probably scold him for eating five whole pieces, but he was teenaged boy after all. Teenagers were supposed to eat everything in sight.

Scott tried to avoid touching the subject of Stiles’ ALS when they finished up and moved back to the living room. Not just for the fact that he really didn’t want to think about it, but also for Stiles’ benefit. Despite Stiles’ attempts to remain standoffish about the whole thing, it was undeniable that he was obviously a lot more affected by the situation than he let off. Scott didn’t blame him at all, as he was pretty much doing the same thing. Trying to shove any more serious emotions into a tiny vault and lock them away for good.

This only made him look less and less forward to meeting with Ms. Blake the next day. As she’d already done previously, Scott was sure that she would poke and prod and make him talk about things that he clearly didn’t want to talk about. Were therapists even allowed to do that? Before ever having met Ms. Blake, Scott had been under the impression that therapists did anything and everything to ensure that the patient was absolutely comfortable. Either this wasn’t the case or he just didn’t know enough about therapists. Arbitrarily, he wondered if Stiles had ever seen a therapist. Maybe if he were to see one, a good one, they could him help deal with how he was feeling about have ALS. It was a little hypocritical of him to think, but he couldn’t deny that in some cases, therapy had it’s benefits.

Finely, Scott gazed over at Stiles. He was dozing quietly, all curled in on himself and soft, the blanket once again tucked around his balled form. It made him feel fuzzy inside, watching Stiles sleep, which seemed to be becoming more and more of a common occurrence. But it also made him sad, sad for Stiles. Sad for himself.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when the front door opened suddenly, but relaxed when he saw that it was just the sheriff. Was it really midnight already? Scott glanced at the cable box, the digits 10:51 looked back at him and then back over to the sheriff, who was currently hanging up his jacket. He probably managed to get off earlier than he’d planned.

Stiles’ father noticed him looking over then, smiling tightly and stepping into the living room. He looked tired and strained. Tense. “Hey, Scott.” He said, voice hushed. Scott returned the smile, though not with much energy, and gave a weak wave of his hand.

“Did Derek come by?”

“Yes,” Scott whispered. “He left some medications and stuff in the kitchen. He told me to tell you to read over the pamphlets before giving any of them to Stiles.”

“Well that’s good.” The sheriff said on a sigh and rubbed a hand down his face, then looked down at Stiles. “How long has he been asleep?” He asked, eyes fond as he regarded his son’s sleeping form with paternal attentiveness. Scott shrugged and stood up from the couch, quietly as not to wake their slumbering charge, “an hour maybe? I’m not really sure. He took his meds though, so you don’t have to worry about that.” Dipping his head, the sheriff leaned down and tucked the blanket closer over Stiles’ shoulders, momentarily pressing his hand over the teen’s forehead, as if he was feeling for a temperature.

“Uh,” Scott said, remembering what Stiles had said earlier about night fevers. “He had a fever earlier today, it didn’t last long but… it was kinda bad.”

“Really?” Stiles’ father asked, looking put upon. Scott felt bad for him, his face twisting in empathy. “Yeah. He said that this was the first time that it’s happened during the day?”

The sheriff nodded and closed his eyes for a split second before opening them again. “It should be,” he said wearily, “and I’m not really sure what to make of it. Hopefully this doctor we’re going to go see will give us some useful answers.” He turned and unhooked his holster, pulling it off and setting on the table with a quiet _thump_. “You should probably be getting home now, Scott.” The older man advised, “It’s getting late. Do you need a ride?”

“No.” Scott said quickly, not wanting to put that burden on Stiles’ father, even though it was a small one. Even so, he didn’t need the ride anyway. He had his dirt bike. Leaning down, Scott scooped up his backpack from where he’d dumped it behind the couch, slipping over his shoulder and zipping up his jacket.

“Thank you, by the way. For coming over.” The sheriff said then. “I don’t like leaving him alone for so long, and Derek can’t always be here. I’m happy that he’s making more friends.” Scott gave him a small grin, “it’s no problem.” He said, sidestepping around the couch and making his way toward the door before halting. “If you ever need me to be over or anything again, just let me know.” The words came out in an oddly easy way, setting off a quick rush of responsibility through Scott. Unconsciously, he tightened his grip on the strap of his backpack.

“Will do. Goodnight, Scott.”

“G’night, Mr. Stilinski.”

He opened and closed the door as silently as he could, sighing heavily as he stepped out into the biting night air. Scott stood there on the deck for a few moments, letting all the events that had transpired in the last several hours sink in. It made him feel tired. And stressed. He needed to get home and get some sleep. To forget about everything and just go into a thoughtless void for a while.

Scott only managed to step down one of the stairs before the front door opened suddenly, orange-yellow light spilling out onto the lawn, causing the dew covered grass to glimmer and making Scott’s shadow stretch all the way across the road like an ominous monster. He turned and blinked in slight surprise. It was Stiles, looking all but half asleep, blanket wrapped over him like some sort of mantle. Scott’s lips twitched into a crooked smile, and he stepped back up until he was standing in the doorway in front of the other teen, warm air from the house wrapping invitingly around him. “Miss me already, dude?” He teased.

Stiles smirked, there was a fabric imprint on the side of his face and his eyes were lax and half-mast. “Jerk.” He responded with no conviction, “Just wanna say bye. So, like. Bye.” His voice was a little raspy and slow from sleep. It was cute.

Scott leered a little, face and neck warming. “Bye.”

Then in a swift, fleeting action, Stiles leaned forward and pressed his lips to the corner of Scott’s slack mouth. It was quick, it was chaste and soft and warm and over before Scott could even react. Stiles was pulling away and closing the door before Scott could even attempt to think about what to do or say in response, snuffing out the light and leaving him to be surrounded by utter darkness with his blood roaring in his ears and his eyes scrambling to adjust to the sudden loss. Leaving Scott gaping like a fish, fingers twitching and cheek tingling as his mind began to process the fact that yes; Stiles had, without any doubt, just kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so lame. Also, I don't think that it's safe or even possible to ride a dirt bike with one broken hand. Suspend your disbelief on that one, folks.
> 
> there's more fun stuff on my [tumblr](http://kakashipng.tumblr.com)  
> 


	8. a woozy you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, school has just been killing my ass these past few months, which would explain why it's taken so long to crank this chapter out.
> 
> Anyway, I'm posting this from my phone which is probably one of the hardest things I've ever done. Also, I'm not really happy with how this chapter turned out. So... there's that. 
> 
> Please forgive and point out mistakes.

Scott woke up the next morning feeling grouchy, swiping his braying alarm clock onto the floor, effectively silencing it. There was a hot burn inside of him that made his skin feel tight and itchy, Scott curled his lip and groaned the moment he blinked into sensible wakefulness. The sobering light of a nearby streetlamp dripped through his window, dappling the walls and floor of the bedroom with softly glowing orbs. It was still dark out, and the dejected clock blinked up at him from the floor, its face displaying the time as 6:00 A.M. in garish bright red. 

School didn’t start for another hour and forty minutes, and every fiber of Scott’s being told him to just go back to sleep. He almost did too, remaining curled under his thick comforter for several minutes before heaving a resigned sigh and hauling himself up from his warm cocoon of blankets, rolling onto the floor and into a one handed pushup position. Working out wasn’t something that he particularly liked, especially with an incapacitated limb that was probably going to be a little less muscular than the other once he got the cast off, but he found it relaxing. Originally, he’d started doing it to keep up with the lacrosse team, but now it was just a simple activity that he enjoyed. It was cathartic. 

Unfortunately, Scott had been temporarily suspended from the team after his incident with Jackson as a form of punishment. As miffed as he was about it, Jackson had been suspended as well. So at least he could find some solace in that.

After doing a few decent sets of pushups, curl-ups, pull-ups, and carefully lifting a small weight with his casted arm, Scott swiped sleep ruffled hair from his forehead, grabbed some clean clothes then slipped into his bathroom. He spared a glance at his reflection; reaching a hand to his face and touching the corner of his mouth. He was trying not to think about that fact that not too long ago, Stiles had kissed him there, the spot tingling with a phantom prickle. 

He wanted to think about it. He really, really did. But a grossly bitter part of him wanted to dismiss anything being behind the chaste press of lips. The other teen had been half asleep and sick and on several medications, if Scott were to bring it up the next time they saw each other Stiles would probably have no idea what he was even talking about. The thought brought a fresh wave of crossness over him, and he closed his eyes and took a deep breath to avoid letting it get the better of him. Once the worst of it passed he stripped out his sleep pants and pulled on his cast cover, he turned the shower on and twisted the nob until the water was almost scalding hot, coiling steam quickly filling the small bathroom. 

The shower was fast and mechanical, Scott distracting himself by focusing on washing his hair and skin, then jacking off. He didn’t really think about anything, just wanted to get off and divert his thoughts for a moment. 

His mother was sitting at the kitchen table by the time he made it downstairs, already dressed in her scrubs and sipping a cup of coffee. Her eyes were pressed to the T.V. as she watched the news. Her schedule for the day allowed for her to drop Scott off at school, something that rarely happened. She would also be picking him up from school as well to take him to the hospital to meet with Ms. Blake. “Hey, Mom.” Scott greeted cheerfully and set his backpack on an empty stool. 

“Too grown up to say good morning?” She asked, pushing a plate of toast toward him. 

“ _Good morning_ , Mom.” Scott said, feigning exasperation and plucking up one of the pieces of toast. She’d made them just the way he liked it, golden brown with butter and a mix of cinnamon and sugar on top. He smiled before taking a bite.

The drive toward the school was mostly silently, shiftless conversation occasionally carrying. Scott told his mother about an upcoming geometry test, which he was dreading, he hated math. His mother telling Scott about a new patient named Malia that was recently admitted to the psych wing, who she didn’t look forward to working with. The girl was apparently a bit of a handful. 

As soon as they pulled into the drop off lane in front of the school, his mom looked at him and smiled warmly. “Have a good day at school, sweetie. I’ll be here to pick you up around 2:20.” She said and leaned over to smooch him on the forehead. “Behave yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Scott sighed, “Bye.” He stepped out and closed the car door behind him, chest tightening at the sight of the thick current of students that flowed throughout the campus. He started walking along the sidewalk with his head down, not having gotten very far when he noticed a presence at his side. 

Glancing over, he couldn’t hide his surprise when he saw that it was Lydia. Looking as effortlessly beautiful as ever. “Uh, hi?” He greeted, lifting his head a bit. Lydia smiled at him, flicking a whorl of ginger hair over her shoulder. “You shouldn’t walk like that,” she said matter of factly, “it’s bad for your spine.” 

Scott flushed. “Walk like what?”

He stopped when she slipped in front of him and halted, pressing a dainty hand to his chest and another to his back, bearing down with both until Scott was standing straight as a board. “Walking so hunched over. You’ll get back problems.” “Oh.” Scott uttered, scratching the back of his neck. “Thanks, I guess.” Lydia gave him some sort of mix between a soft smile and a knowing smirk, withdrawing one of her hands and patting at his shoulder with the other. “You’re welcome. Now come one, we don’t want to be late for first period"

Without looking back, she swiveled around on what were obviously rather expensive pumps and strutted toward the doors of the school, Scott clambering after her. 

"Wait, we have English together?”

She nodded and then added. “U.S. History too. I’m not surprised that you wouldn’t notice though, since you always seemed to be a little... disinterested.” Scott didn’t know exactly how to respond to that, despite that statement being true. So he simply shrugged and mumbled out a half-hearted yeah, cheeks pinking a little. He relaxed when Lydia gave him a sympathetic grin; though that feeling shattered when he looked forward and his eyes locked with familiar blue ones. 

Jackson was leaning against the wall to the side of the main entrance, arms crossed over his chest and looking fashionably disgruntled, but his expression changed from bored to timid the moment he made eye contact with Scott. He wasn’t entirely healed just yet, the sick yellow remnants of a bruise discoloring the cut of a cheekbone, a scabbed over split across the bridge of his nose, and a wine dark spot of blood packed skin blotching his lower lip. 

The sight of him alone filled Scott’s stomach with a storm of undiscernible negativity. Lydia didn’t appear to notice the sudden tension though, striding right up to Jackson and wrapping her arms around him. Jackson seemed to break out of some sort of trance and returned the hug, albeit loosely; but his eyes remained on Scott. Icy and wary. Fortified like a nervous dog. 

It wasn’t until Lydia gave him strange look that Scott realized he had stopped several steps back and was frozen in place. Guardedly, Scott walked forward until he was a close distance to the couple, making sure to keep Lydia between himself and the other teen. He expected Jackson to immediately snark at him, to sneer disgust and spit familiar poison. Instead though, Jackson simply ducked his head a bit, droning out a stilted, “McCall.” Before looking away and aiming his eyes on anything but Scott. 

Scott forced himself to nod his head in return, but didn’t say anything, lips pursing tight. He was beginning to feel an uncomfortable surge of guilt and anger. An uneasy, awkward atmosphere starting to brew in the air. Thankfully, Lydia decided to speak up. “The final bell is in five minutes.” She slid an arm around Jackson’s waist and then wrapped a hand around Scott’s wrist, giving him an apologetic yet pleading look. “Let’s go to class now, please.” 

Scott got it. Or, sort of got it. Jackson was her boyfriend and Scott was well… her friend. Or her friend’s friend. Maybe just her acquaintance. Either way, she seemed to not want any sort of confrontation between the two of them to occur and Scott had a feeling that Jackson wasn’t going to try and start something, the other teen seemed inclined to avoid Scott more than anything. Which had Scott both feeling shamed and pleased at the same time. Though he couldn’t entirely speak for himself. It wasn’t as if he had planned to beat up Jackson the first time, so who was to say that it couldn’t happen a second time? No, because it’s not as if Jackson would provoke him again and besides, Scott had medication to better control himself now. He-

His steps stuttered briefly as he was hit with a sudden realization. He’d forgotten to take his Lithium that morning. Groaning, Scott rubbed at his face, internally kicking himself. Becoming hyper aware of the fact that he was still feeling out of sorts, a feeling that was usually smoothed into some semblance of quietude by the medication. It still didn’t thrive at full capacity yet, Ms. Blake had previously told him that it takes about two weeks to ‘completely’ work, but regardless it made him feel something. Maybe just the thought that swallowing down those pills every day would help him was enough to curb any latent anger, and if he hadn’t remembered that he’d forgotten to take the stupid things he’d probably carry on without even feeling any different… 

"Scott?” Scott snapped back into focus and saw that Lydia was looking at him with concerned green eyes. “Are you okay?” She asked carefully, Jackson shuffling uncomfortably beside her, eyes darting. 

"I’m fine I just… remembered that I have an appointment after school.” Scott not-entirely-lied, rubbing at his nose. “It’s nothing.” He stated, slipping around Lydia and heading in the direction of the English classroom, trying his best to try and ignore the eyes that were burning holes into the back of his head. 

First period managed to go by smoothly; albeit at a slow, slug-like pace. But as time went on Scott felt himself feeling increasingly nervy, tapping at his desk with a pencil and bouncing his knee. Huffing out irritated sighs at the students who talked over the teacher and scribbling nonsense into his notebook. A few people gave him prodding looks, whispering cattily to each other. He caught Lydia’s eye once or twice, she gave him disquieted glances. Face open and curious; he just shrugged at her in response. Trying to get across the point that nothing was wrong. He had a feeling that Lydia was very good at deciphering whether or not someone was lying to her. 

Scott thought about Stiles and what he might be doing at that moment. Probably sleeping, it was way too early for the other teen to be awake. _I'm just not a morning person,_ Stiles had said, _I consider sleeping one of my favorite activities. I like it because I love to dream and it’s kind of like not existing for a while. You don’t have to think or worry about anything._ Recently, Stiles had stopped going to school. For… obvious reasons. 

When the bell for dismissal rang, Scott sprang up from his chair and out of the room, tearing down the hallway and into the bathroom. There were a few people inside inanely sharing a cigarette, but he ignored them as he sidled up to a sink and turned the faucet on, cupping the cold water in his hands and splashing the liquid against his face. The coolness sunk under his skin and pushed back the heated prickling for a short lived moment. It was enough, and he did it a few more times before gripping the edge of the sink and simply breathing. 

A quiet snort to his left had him looking over, reminding him that he wasn’t alone and seeing two students that he not so vaguely recognized. It was a pair of twins named Ethan and Aiden; all the same Scott couldn’t care less about their names because he couldn’t really tell them apart nor did he want to. Once one started talking though, it was pretty easy to tell the difference between the two. Aiden was basically an even cruder version of Jackson while Ethan was actually pretty nice, usually. They always seemed to be glued to each other’s sides as well which was admittedly a little strange. Also they just so happened to be Scott and Jackson’s impermanent replacements on the lacrosse team. 

"You okay?” Ethan asked, eyebrow quirking a bit. Aiden looked utterly amused, a sardonic look on his face that had Scott curling his fingers even tighter to the lip of the sink. “Fine.” He grit out, pushing back and moving toward the door. Scott stopped though when Aidan decided to open his mouth. “Better not put someone else in the hospital.” He heckled cuttingly, dropping the cigarette onto the ground and grinding on it with his heel. Scott tracked the movement, unwilling to meet the other boy’s eyes. When he did look up though he saw Ethan giving his brother a disapprovingly look. Like he wanted to stop him, but not enough to actually do anything. It made Scott angry. 

Scott felt his limbs tremble, ire swirling in him. He chomped onto the inside of his cheek, inhaling and exhaling slowly though his nose, trying his best not to fall for Aidan’s taunt. Swallowing back any retorts Scott pivoted and pushed out of the bathroom, quickly joining into the living swell of teenagers that crowded the hallway. Becoming enveloped into a cacophony of sticky warmth and the mingling scents of sweat, perfumes, and obnoxious body sprays. 

Every now and again someone would bump his shoulder and push into his back. People in front him moving too slowly and people behind him moving too quickly. It didn’t do anything to inspire calmness. He had to stop himself from shoving a slow senior out his way and snapping at an overeager freshman fidgeting at his back. Irritation started to build up unpleasantly. He may or may not have started to see in tunnel vision when someone grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into the small alcove where the fire extinguisher was; going disoriented as everything became a mix of color and heat for a moment. 

He looked down at the hand that had wrapped itself around his bicep, then to the person attached to the hand. It was Lydia and she looked unhappy. Before Scott could say anything, she pressed a hand over his mouth. “Stop. What’s wrong?” She urged, tone calm but demanding.

Scott grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away from his face. “You should know.” He said, trying to keep the bite out of his voice. “I’m an unstable person with anger issues, remember?” 

Lydia narrowed her eyes at him, balking before sighing and stepping back a bit. “I’m not going to try and force you to say anything.” She spoke simply. “I don’t really know you all that well but I do know that Stiles talks about you like you created the universe, so that has to mean something.” Pausing, she crossed her arms, hands cupping her elbows in a resigned way. “So, I wouldn’t feel right just letting you fester and suffer from whatever it is you’re trying to deal with. I’ve helped Stiles get through plenty of his own episodes and spirals, I’m sure that I could help you with yours.” 

Scott laughed on a shaky exhale, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and scowling at the damp that had started to collect there. His heart was still thumping against his ribcage. “I don’t think there’s a whole lot you can do.” He admitted, pressing his back against the wall behind him. The smooth hardness of it grounding him in a way. Lydia raised an eyebrow and jutted her hip out. “I’m not a doctor, but I have some experience dealing with people that don’t have a good hold over their tempers.” The unsaid name hanging in the air between them. Scott sighed. 

"For what it’s worth,” He said, avoiding eye contact. “I am sorry about what happened with Jackson. I’m not shouldering all the blame but I need you to know that I don’t want to be a violent or angry person. A lot of it just… gets out of my control sometimes.” 

Lydia’s eyes softened. “You shouldn’t be apologizing. You can feel sorry for what you did but I’ve told you before that if it hadn’t been you it would have been someone else. Jackson made his bed by saying those things to you and he has to lie in it now.” She trailed off after that; face going a little blank and then she sighed and started to comb a lank of her hair in a somewhat nervous way. “Also I should apologize for making you be near him earlier. I’m fully aware that something could have happened but I just-“

"It's okay.” Scott interrupted. “You don’t want us to hate each other. I don’t know if that will ever happen but… it’s fine. It’s not like you intentionally did that just to spite me and I doubt that anything would’ve happened. I’m getting better at this anger management thing.” Lydia smiled at that, a real and genuine smile; her eyebrows quirking. “I’m starting to see why Stiles likes you so much.”

\----

Scott didn’t go to lunch, instead slipping out onto the campus and heading toward the bleachers. It felt like his intestines were alive and writhing around inside of him. Effectively destroying his appetite. 

There were a few people out on the field, guys chasing and pushing each other in some sort of violent game of tag. A couple girls sat on the grass near them, laughing and shouting encouragement. Without paying much mind to them, Scott stomped up the bleacher stairs until he made it to the top bench and then slumped down onto its metal surface, closing his eyes leaning his head back against the wooden structure the hung over him. When he opened his eyes he noticed a few students who were also lounging on the bleachers starting at him, though they quickly looked away when their eyes met.

He couldn’t seem to get away from all of the curious, vindictive gazes. Most everyone knew what had happened and the meddlesome teenaged entitlement that called for unapologetic whispering and staring didn’t help. It made a tightness form around his lungs, it also made him want to curl in on himself to block everything out. Huffing out an angry sigh, he dragged himself up from the bench. Scott needed to find a place where he could be completely alone. Each time he met some snobby student’s eyes he felt himself getting more and more irritated. 

There were a few places on the campus that were secluded, away from the commotion and adolescent rush. Behind the very last portable building and over in the small AG garden, though the latter was an occasional haunt for students looking to neck or steal a first kiss. Scott opted to the hide himself behind the portable; it was a small and somewhat dirty place, typically unoccupied. Thick brambles spilled over onto muddy, gravelly ground; leaving a small clearing about five feet in diameter to hug up against the faded beige wood of the small building. But it was private, and that was enough.

After the short trek across campus, Scott sunk down into a crouch with his back pressed against the wall, he curled his fists and tucked them away into the pockets of his jacket, chin hooked over his knees. He flinched slightly in surprise when his knuckles brushed against something smooth and cold, it was his phone. Struck with an idea, Scott pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts, smiling slightly when he reached Stiles’ name. It was a stretch, but maybe he’d be able to get a hold of him. He’d feel better after talking to someone he knew. He tapped at the screen and pressed the phone to his ear, trying to ignore the sudden elevation of his heartbeat. It was only after a few rings that Stiles’ familiar voice chirped through, “Scott?” He sounded surprised but his voice was warm, welcoming. 

“Uh, hey Stiles. Did I wake you up? We can talk later if you want-” 

There was a slight shuffle on the other line. Like the scratch of an old blanket. “No!” Stiles interrupted, “I just wasn’t expecting you to call, considering school and all, isn’t there some sort of ‘out of sight’ rule about phones? 

“Yeah,” Scott said, kicking a small stone and watching it skitter into the brambles, rattling the bony tendrils. “But it’s lunchtime.” 

Stiles snorted a little, the sound muffled and tinny. “Well, shouldn’t you be eating or something? Why’d you call? Did you miss me already?” 

"Okay, one; I’m not hungry. Two, I’m bored and I hate everyone at this school. And three, you were the first person in my contacts who answered.” The last one was a lie, not that Stiles knew that though. 

"Someone’s a little sassier than usual.” Stiles replied, Scott could imagine him smiling to himself. “You sound a little… bitey.” 

Scott shrugged, chewing his cheek and kicking another stone into the bushes, tracking it as it was swallowed into the underbrush. “Yeah… I’m not in the best mood today. I forgot to take my medication this morning and I sort of feel like a time bomb or something.” 

"Scott!” Stiles scolding, his voice whined out and slightly exasperated. “Dude, take it from someone that has to take a cocktail of meds every day; it’s not good to miss out on your medicine. Especially when your body is getting to be more dependent on it.” 

"Yes, thank you for that. Hindsight doesn’t really help me at this point though.” Scott huffed, rubbing at his forehead. A prickle of annoyance flashing behind his eyes, immediately followed by a small wave of shame. He didn’t want his shitty problems to project onto Stiles, whether it was intentional or not. “And it’s not like my mom can just bring them to me since she’s at work.” He let out a longsuffering sigh, “I’ll just have to ride it out.” 

"I'm sorry,” Stiles said, concern lacing his voice. “I know how much that can suck, I mean, not exactly in the same way that it sucks for you because I’ve never taken Lithium before but in the way that I know what it feels like to not have your medication or to skip your medica-“ 

"Okay, Stiles. I get it.” Scott interrupted, smirking a bit. “Just curious, are you aware of how your mouth will just keep running on its own are is that totally beyond you?” 

"You’re hilarious, Scott.” Stiles deadpanned, “but anyway, I sort of wanted to apologize for last night.” 

“Last night?” The sudden memory of Stiles leaning out of his doorway to kiss Scott flooded through his mind; bringing a flush of heat to his cheeks and making his heart thump a little harder in his chest. A small roaring starting up in his ears. “Um,” he started once he was able to find his voice, “why would you need to apologize?” Did Stiles remember kissing him? The thought sent an odd thrill through Scott, but also a stab of fear. “What are you wanting to apologize for, exactly?” 

"Well, for crashing on you and stuff. Personally, I think it’s a little rude to just fall asleep like that when you have a guest over…” 

Scott didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed, so he just swallowed down any of those feelings and nodded to himself. “It’s fine, you falling asleep is totally justifiable. And even if it wasn’t it would be fine with me.” 

Stiles chuckled a little at that, but the sound came out airy and a little sad sounding. “Sure, whatever you say. Um, also, I was wondering if you wanted to come over again today? I know that you have your appointment and you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but since I’m leaving for Seattle soon I figured we should get some time in with each other before then. And uh, I want to talk to you about something.” 

The tone of Stiles voice made Scott’s heart lurch, a thick twist that squeezed the air out his chest and made the blood in his veins thicken. That selfish part of him squirmed and hoped that Stiles wanted to talk about the kiss. Forcing an exhale, Scott smiled, his fingers quivering a bit around his phone. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

Stiles said something in reply, but Scott didn’t quiet catch it. His focus was instead drawn toward the sudden grating crunch of gravel to his right side. “Hold on,” Scott breathed out quickly and turned to see who exactly it was that had just intruded on their conversation.

Fuck. 

Iwas Aiden, and his expression turned from mild surprise to a sick kind of glee. Like a cat who had just caught a mouse. The corner of the other boy’s mouth curled into a snide smirk, “hey Scotty.” He greeted, all faux warmth. 

Scott vaguely heard Stiles saying his name on the other line, and with more than a little remorse he tapped the ‘end call’ button and shoved his phone into his pocket. Quickly standing up and scrubbing debris from his pants, Scott curled his shoulders inward and stared the Aiden down, mouth tightening. He was alone, but he was also blocking the only way out of the small space that didn’t require getting tangled up in spiny brambles. “Who’re you talking to?” Aiden asked, ignoring Scott’s obvious contempt, his voice still light and fake. 

“None of your business.” Scott spat, straightening up and stepping forward, hoping that Aiden would get the hint and back off.

He didn’t, instead remaining firm and solid in blocking Scott off from the outside world. Sighing loudly, Scott curled his hand into a fist and tucked it against his side. “Please get out of my way.” 

Aiden raised his hands in a lazy surrender, palms open and fingers loosely curled. “Hey, I’m just trying to have a friendly conversation. We’re on the same team after all. Or, were.” It was obviously bait that Scott had to literally force himself not to take, biting into his lip and clenching his fist harder, finger nails stinging the soft flesh of his palm. “Aiden, I’m not kidding. Leave me alone.” He tried to step past the other boy again, sliding against the side of the portable in an attempt to slip through the small space between Aiden’s side and the faded beige building, but Aiden simply shoved up in front on him, his shoulder jamming into Scott’s sternum and earning a breathless grunt from him. 

Stumbling back, Scott rubbed at his chest and wheezed a little bit. “What the fuck?! I didn’t do anything to you; so just get out of here and leave me alone! This isn’t funny and I don’t-”

Aiden cocked his head and crossed his arms over his chest, lips curling. “Don’t what?” He interjected, “don’t wanna end up losing control and doing to me what you did to Jackson?”

Scott balked, the fire in his stomach going cold for a moment.

"Why? Do you want me to put you in the hospital too?” The words slipped out before he could stop himself, all poison laced and full of intent. Scott flinched the moment his mouth closed around the last word, regret and shame mixing in with the anger swirling inside of him. 

Aiden’s eyebrow arched. “Is that a fucking challenge, McCall?” 

“No!” Scott snapped, stepping back and holding his good hand in front of himself. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to say that…”

"I have a hard time believing that.” The other boy goaded, stepping forward and puffing himself up like some kind of idiotic tomcat. Scott took another step back, but cursed when sharp thorny bushes rubbed up against the backs of thighs and calves. He immediately regretted that instance of momentary distraction as Aiden’s fist collided with the side of his head, knuckles driving against bones and sending electric jolts all the way down to Scott’s toes.

The world turned sparking and black for a moment and Scott was thrown sideways, legs tangling and sending him sprawling into the wall of the portable, right shoulder smashing hard into the wood and going numb with the force of the impact. Scott groaned and blinked rapidly as his eyes swiveled and fought to find focus; deep, head-splitting pain radiating from the now throbbing spot where Aiden had punched him. 

"Geez.” Aiden tutted from above him, voice smarmy and haughty. “Jackson must be the world’s biggest pussy if that’s all it takes to get you down.” 

Scott remained on the ground for a moment. Thick, syrupy pain leeching throughout his body and cold wetness from the ground soaking into his clothes. He couldn’t fight back. There was no way he would do it. 

In that moment, all Scott could think about was how disappointed his mother would be. How disappointed Mrs. Blake and Derek would be; how disappointed Stiles would be. It was by a slim, near impossible chance that they’d been let off so easily after what happened with Jackson; a snowballs chance in hell that jail time and settlements had been avoided.

They wouldn’t get so lucky a second time, Scott and his mom. Scott would be in jail, away from the world surrounded by bleak coldness. And his mother would be drowning in the amount of money that would need to be paid, frustrating court dates and side glances at the grocery store. Self-righteous eyes staring in mock sympathy and whispers of “that McCall kid…”following her everywhere she went. 

It couldn’t happen. Not again, Scott wouldn’t let it. No matter what happened or how much Aiden pressed, he wouldn’t fight back. It wasn’t worth it. Not by a long shot. 

In what could have only been a few seconds but felt like an eternity, Scott managed to get his hands and knees under him and start to scramble away, toward the opening and out and away from the portables and Aiden. Get to his feet and find a teacher and get help. Aiden would be dealt with and Scott would be free; there’s nothing to be held against him. The other boy completely instigated it. 

Scott had barely began to crawl forward when Aiden grabbed onto his collar and yanked back and to the side, sending him flat onto his back, head lolling with disorientation. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?!” Aiden hissed, face twisted and dangerous. 

Scott sputtered through sharp hurtand tried to catch his breath, “Aiden… please stop.” He tried, looking up into the other teen’s eyes. Aiden considered him for a moment, before a shadow passed over his face and he smirked in a terrifying way. “I don’t think so.” He jeered and then raised his foot, posing a well-aimed kick straight to Scott’s face. Thankfully, Scott was out before he even felt the pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things really get rolling in the next chapter.


End file.
